His Own Landslide / His Own Fog

Listen to the rain. Watch the trees burn. Remember there’s more
than one way to say love.
Don’t flinch. Make an effort to laugh more, to read more, to
say more. There’s a lot to forget, so you disappear things
slowly, walk them into the fog.
Get older. Get smarter. Stop expecting so much. Learn to
appreciate more, to give more, to show more.
Kiss long, like it’s goodbye, like his lips are connected to his
soul, like his heart is in his tongue.
Don’t let go.
Love. In more than one way. Love the rain, love the trees,
love the things you need to forget just before you let them
go. Love the boy who found you in your brokenness and
didn’t try to talk you whole, who kissed you like your lips
were connected to your soul, like your heart was in your
tongue.
Who doesn’t let you go.
Who loves you. In more than one way.
Who has his own rain, his own trees, his own things to
forget.

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