I wrote once:
“I write my best
when I feel my worst—
So please,
fall in love with me again,
then bring us to an end.
Make my heart break open
Help me write again.”
But what if I stopped waiting
for ruin to feel real?
What if joy could stretch just as wide?
What if stillness held something, too?
What if there’s art in what stays?
I don’t have the answer,
but the wondering
still feels worth something.
A poetic reflection of the thoughts I explore more fully in my latest Substack piece.
W Love,
A. Song
Avril Song 