save your scissors.

I found myself carving your name again today.
It wasn't into another helpless tree, intentionally anyway. I found it escaping my nailbed and digging itself into the soil. I whispered, "rest here, please please..." and held my breath between my teeth because I found that as you poured from between the lines of my lashes, I never really seeped from the division of yours. I never really had a reason to, because that was something I could never give.

You were always sorry for your reasons, and I was always sorry that my feet were never big enough for those shoes others had left at the door.

But, I have found that sometimes walking with skin pressed against earth in the most honest way is much more wonderful than a pace weighed down by the conscience of worn down stitches of leather marked "previously owned."