words about nothing in particular

the cracks in the floor like a wintermelon breeze stitching your tongue together like
the pages of my brain that sift the pieces, torn apart like a memory of a day long forgotten
on top of the stars where everything seemed forever
only now to become pieces of dust that settled to the ocean floor.

i write with no intentions of ever knowing what it means to be loved
what it means to be whole
what it means to be forgotten
what it means to be lost in the memory of you, a balloon swelled to the size of a star quickly burst and somewhere in between crashes and burns and i pick up the pieces over and over and over again

an apple tree
a salty breeze
chalk on the board