poetry playlist / mood
Moth/Flame — A Rewatch I Pretend Is New
For when the ending is gentle and somehow that hurts more.
Read this when…
Keeping my hands busy so my heart doesn’t try to drive. Inside each poem is a door I didn’t slam—just closed, softly. Maybe the point isn’t the answer. Maybe it’s the accuracy. My favorite kind of magic is the kind that looks like truth. Yor some reason, the quiet endings hit the hardest. Fair warning: chronology was considered. It was rejected. And yes—some of these are break‑up points. Consider this the map. Eeeping my hands busy so my heart doesn’t try to drive.
note the slightly weird capitals are intentional.