Mxschulberg21

i'm done wishing on shooting stars, and i want to be done with you: i'll let dust settle on my telescope, let dust settle in my throat, my lungs. twist your fingers through my vocal cords, press your palm to my lips and tell me, hush don't wish on things falling too fast to hear you -- maybe i'll wish on seashells instead: they are quiet houses for muted ghosts, though more alive than you have ever been. i'll let you pull me under, paint my eyes with salt, blind me so you can murmur, shh even dead things can be beautiful