It's 15 past 6 in the morning and I think I have finally found a moment that the earth is quiet, heart is quiet / the sound of constant ticking is starting to wear away. 

I just spent 10 mins going through someone's profile on Instagram. Several profiles actually. I found that my favourite novel is other people's favorite novel too. And I realised that one dreamy book for me was a book that helped someone else get through middle school. It's a strange feeling. I'll never see perks the same way again. 

Sometimes, writings save people. It's a strange thing but I feel like I've known this all along. Maybe I've written so deeply in efforts to reach to that some one, who knew what I was saying, who felt me (grab my elbow, I'll grab yours and pull) and my heart on that wavelength. Maybe by writing I am saving myself, I am reaching in and pulling out what's left of me that's on fire and letting that set me ablaze. 

These are the nights that.. for a good moment, head and heart are not at odds, things are quiet, good, perfect. 

I dig deep. I am warm, happy, whole. Broken pieces are threatening to fall off and apart now but for this split second, it is quiet. It is quiet

And it's everything