Our love is sacred. Our bond is rare. You are transformation. I am butterfly.
Or maybe you’re butterfly. One of us is butterfly.
The other one is standing in the kitchen wondering why everything has to be a metaphor for growth.
Sometimes soup is just soup. Sometimes I miss you in a normal amount.
But that doesn’t scan well, doesn’t hit the same, won’t get the upvotes.
So: fire. So: walls. So: sacred.
Felt this.