A mile long
There are stories we never tell.
Things we never say.
Even more things we never do.
It’s a weird mood to be in early on a Saturday morning.
I spent the first few hours of my Friday reading about supermodels murdered, supermodels taking their own lives. The murders were sad because they didn’t want to go. The suicides were sadder because they did.
There are stories they will never tell.
Things they will never say.
Even more things they will not do.
There are stories I want to tell.
Things I want to say.
Even more things I want to do.
And that’s why I keep breathing.