pandoragirl

I remember one day in late August or early September, We woke up before the sun, and crept around the streets until the bright sun matched the volume of our voices. The boat was smallish and I wondered about sharks. I tried to hold your hand. Or sit so our legs touched, but you didn't allow this. The salt collected on my lips and face, while I tried to not think about how tiny we were in our boat, in the middle of this big ocean; how deep down the dark water went, and all the things that lived in it. The islands emerged as quickly as the mainland disappeared from view. The water was warm and blue (I'd never seen blue ocean b

{unconditional} this is what everyone was talking about this right here in my doorway and youre smiling             -like its your birthday And im smiling             -like its mine suns bright behind your head as if gods given you a halo            -sent me an angel whose kisses are the only heaven ive ever found this is what all poets wrote about this right here holding on to you knowing weve got other places to be           -but not wanting to go there five hundred and ten goodbyes spoken in 10 minutes            -when you should have been gone in two this is what weve always heard about            -but d

I want to be a ballerina and stretch pretty legs above a pretty head until you'd think they'd snap. Break. But then defying. With elasticity unthinkable. With grace unimaginable. With toes pointed pink. Yes, to be that light on my feet. Maybe. But I am no ballerina, no dancer am I. Awkward on these clumsy stilts, I wish I could trade them in. And no, I don't know where these bruises came from. They just sort of appeared. No one's hitting me. I went for a walk the other day, overly aware of how lonely my strides were, and the insecure wobble of my legs. Seems like I'm always shaking these days. Not like that. Like this. Like a tightrope walker