She missed the public bus today and had to walk home in the rain, so by the time she took her heels off at the door her feet were wrinkled with gritty water from every puddle in the sidewalk along ninth street. She waited twenty minutes to wrap them in a warm towel from the dryer and closed her eyes for a few moments with a smile.
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
sweatshirt sleeves to hide your wrists from sleet sweatshirt sleeves to pull your fingers into sweatshirt sleeves for drying tears on when that bagginess is all the space you have left
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
The thing about hooded sweatshirts is that you can put the hood up and pull in your hands up to the knuckles and create a space within a space that's warm and close and secret and shielded from all the things too bright and sharp for what's inside this softened shell.
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
No one remembers their names anymore and when you say m&m no one really hears it anymore and mars&murrie the twin giants are overlooked a million times every day
like the two point nine miles of horizon the twenty thousands breaths your lungs draw a day and all the muffled groans of someone else's pain
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
Gray ash is soft and caught between the creases of these tender hands as I sift and search with hagard gaze through the dust for the spark that was left behind.
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
Can you imagine a stream walking around all the sticks that clog it up or feel a river sauntering past the stones that turn it into rapids? Water runs fastest through the harshest places, but water always makes it to the end.
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
It's the empty space between the stars and the stars' smallness one by one and the faint aura 'round the moon's body and its light softly brushing clouds that puts the night into the blackness. It's the stillness in a breeze that makes it gentle, the formlessness of flame that makes it dance. But where there are ashes of a life cold within my soul how do I find the spark to light them?
she/her/they acethetic and paronoid *waves leafy fronds*
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