(no subject)
I can’t account for this girl who lives in me and who’s been haunting me for so many years. I catch a glimpse of her in night-stained mirrors, but only if I’m not looking, only if I’m pretending not to look. Every now and then, she fills my eyes with eerie, heavy, darkening silver and then this vivid, feverish silver gets torn out, violently and swiftly. The terrible force that tears it out of my eyes, this force has no name and the place it comes from is forever hidden by very still, silent trees. And it hurts. It always hurts so much.
I see us both standing on a bridge, one overwhelmingly lucid evening, smoking fine slim cigarettes, fragile ashes in lieu of whispered stories, and no one will ever be able to tell if it was a push or a jump…
Why can’t I account for you? And which one of us failed to protect the other?
I see us both standing on a bridge, one overwhelmingly lucid evening, smoking fine slim cigarettes, fragile ashes in lieu of whispered stories, and no one will ever be able to tell if it was a push or a jump…
Why can’t I account for you? And which one of us failed to protect the other?