My head under water,
browsing through my thoughts,
or so I think, they are mine.
Somewhere, when things get
quiet, I can hear the beating
of a drum, the rhythm
so indistinctly mine.
Birds flying, leaving no
trace behind, on the deep
blue canvas. Inside of us
are endless stories, some
happy, some sad, yet
infinitely ours. Inside of us
are endless possibilities,
no matter how broken
we've become.
