(no subject)
in a letter to a city, he told her she wasn't quite as tragic as she thought she was, and he wrote it in black ink, so that nothing could be overdramaticized except by the light of the pale moon.
dear city
you wrapped your arms around his neck and he held you by your spun glass waist and now his hands are gone and you're finding out your legs don't work quite the way you thought they did when you had him to support you. you were all awkward glances and paper flowers, and he was handshakes and practicalities, and somehow you got tangled, came in to orbit around him. you fell into his orbit and forgot you were a sun, yourself, once, and became a shadow, a dark planet on a darker night, warmed by the light of his smile.
dear shadow,
you didn't ever plan any of it, did you? you never mapped out your future when you trace the lines of your palm, never imagined his wouldn't quite reach so far as where yours ended? when you see your own hand, do you ever try to pinpoint where yours ends, now that that's something on your mind? gypsy girl, you weren't meant to stay in one place.
dear gypsy,
remember who you are, my constellation, plane crash, and spiderweb, where boys and moths get caught when they see you and suddenly find themselves in too deep. remember you've got lungs and legs, and stop looking at your hands.
except, he ripped them into shreds, feeling dramatic and cruel and stupid under the light of the silvery moon.
dear city
you wrapped your arms around his neck and he held you by your spun glass waist and now his hands are gone and you're finding out your legs don't work quite the way you thought they did when you had him to support you. you were all awkward glances and paper flowers, and he was handshakes and practicalities, and somehow you got tangled, came in to orbit around him. you fell into his orbit and forgot you were a sun, yourself, once, and became a shadow, a dark planet on a darker night, warmed by the light of his smile.
dear shadow,
you didn't ever plan any of it, did you? you never mapped out your future when you trace the lines of your palm, never imagined his wouldn't quite reach so far as where yours ended? when you see your own hand, do you ever try to pinpoint where yours ends, now that that's something on your mind? gypsy girl, you weren't meant to stay in one place.
dear gypsy,
remember who you are, my constellation, plane crash, and spiderweb, where boys and moths get caught when they see you and suddenly find themselves in too deep. remember you've got lungs and legs, and stop looking at your hands.
except, he ripped them into shreds, feeling dramatic and cruel and stupid under the light of the silvery moon.