When you climb into me, you ask me if I'm ok. And you mean it. That takes more strength than moving with me and taking feeling for yourself. If only you cared less, maybe I could too. If I could stop wanting to taste the breeze moving under your skin, right at the thinnest part of your flesh on your neck. If only I could stop wanting to feel you grow around me like a tree reclaiming what man tried to steal from it.
|Self Portrait taken in Midway, Utah|