Perfectly Altered Leah Keane

Perfectly Altered

As the day quickens and my heart slows I will never forget the air in that room pulled tight between us waiting to be released by worded lever, but grasped by hands that do not matter

because they are not ours.

I cannot count the times I have laid that night out flat like a blanket and placed my fingers through the holes I have made that make it perfect.

When you revisit a memory often enough, you cannot help but alter it. We are simple creatures, victims of our own beliefs tinkering with the mechanics of a life that bends us to desires

it has no intention of letting us reach.

Leah Keane