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It was strange for the girl with the greenest eyes despised money. 

 -anna sluder

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First's

Let us not forget the miles it took for us to get here; how long it took to stop getting cozy with chaos, to stop planting any seed we caught from the wind in the garden of our hearts. And let us not forget the first time you turned off the light and sat alone in the dark and you felt safe; because once you’ve survived it’s like having all your first’s again except no one is there to hold your hand, so let us not forget the first time you ate after it happened, I think it was a strawberry Pop-Tart, the first words that you said, even if they were as quiet as dove wings, they were words, the first time you wrote a sentence, even if you forgot the commas, then took a shower and brushed your hair. And let us not base these “first’s” on the fact that this is the first time you walked to your car and no one hurt you, but instead it is the first time you got behind the wheel and you drove, until the sky bled out like a beautiful gunshot wound, ...
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Oblivion

I'm here and you are looking at me and I at you and I am tugging at the string that I had so tightly tied around your finger hoping you won't forget and I'm thinking about my body burning every freckle, place that you touched or held every inch of skin and limb and crinkle that holds memories of a smile burned tossed among the wind in a bohemian-like dance that insists I be tossed like bird food among the places that I loved when I only ever really loved you but I suppose being worm food isn't much better at the hands of grave diggers too So I'm here looking at you Hoping you'd give a penny for these thoughts because they feel worth a million since they are like dreams that when you wake up you pine to remember but they are already gone perhaps they are truly nothing but you still want to know even go mad to hear what unconsciousness tasted like the high of genius you get from snorting unreality like a drug Just tell me, was I beautiful ...
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I am afraid to make today my home, I am afraid to buy pillows in the comfort of this moment, so I try to imagine the future, I like to think that it is a road lined with flowers in the colors of my youth, but there are no flowers, I don’t even think that if there is a road, it is lined with commas. When I dare my mind to try to imagine the future, I only see myself, no bills, no house, no job, no person, no plan, just myself standing in a field of baby green ampersands, cutting my hair and then holding a small bird, and the bird doesn’t sing for me,  as I promised I would never ask it to, it just stays alive beside me. So most days we break apart plums with our fingers like stories, and we make each day, each plum our home, and we are perfect and we are whole in this interval of quiet, where the sun is the only one who gets to see. -anna sluder
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