Savor It

by Tarah DeWitt

That plumb line of sorrow vibrates in me still, like hearing about theirs strummed on a chord of my own.

did I just try to flirt while plopped in a field like a cow patty?

even I can tell that you’re vast.”

I can feel the laugh roll through him before it ghosts across my lips.

“I’d wager he just knew you were too far above him, so he tried to bring you to his level.

By making the things that light you up seem dim to him.”

My eyes get tripped up on her lips—thoroughly

I’m in danger of growing addicted to being near.

Every time he says something like this, it takes a herculean effort not to titter like an idiot.

Plenty of people aren’t looking to just eat.

Some of us are trying to be fed something, I don’t know, more, when we go to those places,”

The sadness that pierces through my chest hits me so strongly and severely I want to claw at it and rip it back out.

the more I repeat it. There’s a term for that, I think? Semantic satiation.

Don’t worry so much about the clouds that you miss the flowers at your feet. Flowers might fade, but I think I’ll enjoy them while they’re here.

My senses feel clear and heightened, the early evening holding its breath around me,

“Courage is a muscle.” You strengthen it with use.

Sometimes thoughts just need space to roam before you can sort them through.

Sometimes courage is just quietly trying again,