By Audrey Valentine Weisburd

You always want to be left alone.
Until you are left alone. And then,
You just want to be held.
And then you are held, but the skin
stuck to skin overwhelms and removes you,
sitting on the edge of something shared. 
So you roll over on your own shoulder,
face to back to wall, until
A mysterious guilt breaks through you.
Great shard of nothing. 
There isn’t much to do now.
You don’t want to be the one
who moves too much.
Morning meets night. We are all aging,
and we don’t even see it, until one day,
it’s all we can see.
The wrinkles finally hollow out. 
Instead of a number, time starts to resemble
every voice you’ve ever loved, harmonized.
The moonlight sits
upon your best friend’s chest, rising
and falling. The space between you 
shrinks. The house silences itself. 
The tide of a dream you won’t remember
carries you away.

Audrey Weisburd (she/her) ’25 is a television, radio and film major and a creative writing minor. She has wanted to be a writer her entire life and found a love for lyrical poetry through songwriting as a teenager. Audrey loves to watch movies, read short stories, and write in the late hours of the night with a cup of peppermint tea beside her orange cat!