17; when i think of people who are 17 i think of campfire burning. of branches twisting to the sky. my cousin told me he was wise for a time at 17, told me he wrote poems to the birds overhead. 17 is an age of angels. how lovely it must be to live in such a way.

This is so beautiful and poignant, wow.

It’s also very fitting, since I’m on the cusp of turning eighteen in a few days!