You sent me a song
(Newly released) To tell me how you're feeling But I couldn't make out all the words And no one had written down the lyrics yet (Believe me, I searched) So I told you it was pretty And hoped for the best. I feel like that sums us up pretty well: you rarely speak, and when you do it's not in words I can understand (even when I try) - Atlas
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Sometimes when I try to describe how I feel
It is like trying to describe an exact shade of a color. I can say 'green', Or I can say 'the color of light shining through leaves' Or I can try to say 'that color when the light hit your eyes at a weird angle that one time on the bus and made them seem to glow from the inside' It feels sometimes like that's as close as I can get To describing it But you still don't see what I see. it really is quite complicated - Atlas Before the storm I am calm
To the point of being dismissive. When I survive the storm I wonder if I should have approached it differently, Taken it more seriously, Breathed the unsaturated air more freely. But innocence is a comfortable cloak You only get to wear once. Sometimes it's nice to savor it. innocence, ignorance, arrogance - Atlas What I am most afraid of
Is giving up. The tiredness, the resignation Being unable to find joy or peace In something as simple As sunrise. Please, Don't give up. hmmn - Atlas You could be my villain
And I could be yours Or we could be heroes Or henchmen Love interests Childhood friends Or maybe We could just be us Whatever that is. You know? whatever we are - Atlas Thank you
Thank you Thank you For these wonderful years For the golden light that seeps into my bedroom For love and friendship and heartache For dreams met and unfulfilled For promises made For questions asked For new beginnings And endings. Thank you. for everything. I love you - Atlas I'm not ready to grow older
I'm not ready for the challenges The responsibilities that lie ahead I'm not ready And I'll probably never be ready But I'm still grateful I get to try, You know? that doesn't make it less intimidating though - Atlas Somewhere,
a bed has been left unmade. dishes, left unwashed a thousand little things undone unsaid unfinished. Somewhere, someone is getting out of bed for the last time. these things have always been true but they're a little closer to home for everyone these days. 1-2% feels so small. until it suddenly doesn't anymore - Atlas if you're wondering
why I keep doing this, it's because it's very difficult to write 365 bad poems in a row. however, I live to exceed expectations. aren't you so proud - Atlas |
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