Crying into my chamomile

I live beautiful moments and then mourn them immediately.

My tears are hot and I keep heaving.

I love to be held and kissed.

Even if it results in feeling missed.

I love to lay like spoons in a drawer.

I grow inspired by being around even more.

I am so lucky-

This luck is heavy and I don’t mean to cry but I can’t help it.

My feelings are big and weigh on my shoulders like a tight and warm hug.

I can’t let go.

Its almost suffocating, but so comforting.

My cup smells like honey and might just overflow.

I suppose I could chug,

but what can I do with an empty mug?

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