let your phone die in your hands - by toni bravo

Sometimes I look out of my window and the sky is pink. It reminds me of being 8 years old, crouching down beside one my living room windows with my twin sister. We’d sit, our backs against the wall exhausted from playing, only coming in because the street lights came on. And us calling those same pink skies “cotton candy sky”. And then I thought about how quickly we’ve grown up and how far away that memory feels now. How quickly a memory can slip through your fingertips and into the past. And how quickly a memory can grow legs and walk towards the back of your mind. I think that’s when I began to feel an undercurrent of dread. An unease that came with the end of enjoying. Or what seemed like it. Now, when I think about cotton candy skies I don’t feel that same undercurrent of unease as much anymore. Mainly because I now know that enjoying a moment is never as fleeting as it seems. It just changes. On the week of my 22nd birthday, I wrote a song called “Changes” in my bedroom that kind

Sometimes I look out of my window and the sky is pink. It reminds me of being 8 years old, crouching down beside one my living room windows with my twin sister. We’d sit, our backs against the wall exhausted from playing, only coming in because the street lights came on. And us calling those same pink skies “cotton candy sky”. And then I thought about how quickly we’ve grown up and how far away that memory feels now. How quickly a memory can slip through your fingertips and into the past. And how quickly a memory can grow legs and walk towards the back of your mind. I think that’s when I began