Let the old story go and
Speak to me in flowers, like

Mirror facing mirror.
Nothing else.

Behold; your future executioners

Warrior of compassion.

We are made of the same River.

Deep breaths.

Body like mountain.
Heart like ocean.
Mind like sky.

Someday my soul will sink into the ground and Sequoia trees will grow up in its place.

I hate you for what you did.
But I still miss you like a little kid.
Misery is the price I paid for being brave.