The best gifts are never wrapped.
If I ever lose my mind, remember, I lost my heart long back.
The ocean’s turned red, trying to squeeze itself between his words.
This is my messy closet. It has thorns carefully stored. Handshakes with ghosts. Names, fuzzy in my mind. This 6 by 6 is a diary. Cluttered corners alive with gossip. Cracked heels reeking of dance, drinks, drama. It hides the dress worn that night. Plastic jewels, marked with memories of untied hair. Tiny rusty drawers, opening to dreams of curiosity, of hidden play. The key lies within, why search in space?
The clouds are my umbrella against rain.
I stretched every instant and wore it like a scarf, feeling warmed by days yet to come.
When the last button fell, no one heard the shirt tear, no one saw the dust ruffle. It was as quiet as a swallowed voice.
I pickpocketed his desires. Top of the thief pack, even the mirror was bluffed. Running, hiding. Waiting for that day. Would he catch me?
My heart moves so fast that I need the stillness of the ocean to dance with each beat. My passion burns from a well that meets its maker in another as strong.
How do you mourn for people who died because you were born?