aftermath

This is sunday morning, steeped in sunlight,

the world blurry outside of a cracked window.

This is the aftermath,

late night conversations still glowing on the phone screen,

single spaced musings about the fragility of life,

and a hundred other childish things.

This is tracing patterns overhead on the popcorn ceiling,

and letting the sound of your own breath

lull you back to sleep,

wondering if you have ever felt quite this human before.