I wanna write poems in the tone of your mother’s eyes when she whispered your name for the very first time. Poems that will make you go home, pick up the phone and call her while I call mine to say, “You know those lines on the kitchen wall where I grew taller and taller and taller? Put a couple more there, won’t you? ‘Cause I’m growing up here.” No longer looking at my days like they’re a cup, calling them enough. From now on, they’ll be overflowing, since now I’m knowing it’s up to me to fill them up.
Andrea Gibson, from “Enough” (via weaverofstars)
(Source: pigmenting, via aneuromess)
