courtneyeyoung
We laid in the hot sun in the dusty afternoon light, where the desert was as dry as our hearts and the sun was as high as our spirits. We lay there together. They paid us to know each other. They paid us to love each other. But they couldn't pay us any amount to leave each other.
It wasn't a belly laugh, it wasn't extremes. Nor was it boredom, it was the space in between. It was that section that's as small as hair, the chances of standing on it incredibly rare. It's tranquility, it's peace. It may be only a split second but it goes so deep.
I trusted you.
I thought we were woven together by something greater than rekindling and serendipity. It turns out we are, but it happens to be malice, regret, broken promises, and the inability to just let go even though we both desperately wish we could.
If there's a whole piece missing, and I'm just a piece of something, does that make me whole? Because I feel like just a piece.
There are some things that can shape you at the same time of destroying you. When you're shaped, you aren't necessarily just being chipped away at, there's always the possibility that you're just molded into something else. Regardless, though, whenever you get chipped away at, that allows room for more... more to change you.
Wands can come in many different forms and perform many different tasks. They can resemble long rectangles or oblong shapes or be a mere train of thought. They can be the fingers of a lover that travel down all pathways of your skin and trace the outline of your heart and what it does to you. They can be the paintbrushes you hold with the yellow paint traveling and bleeding on canvas screaming of the amazing day that you just had. They can be heroin needles or the ride that it takes you on. They can be the barrels of guns and they can be the silence and peace that you feel after the shot... after the violence... after your death wish has been granted. The one thing that all these wands have in common, though, is that they are all magical.
I don't what I'm supposed to do, who I'm supposed to be, if I'm supposed to save anyone or if I'm even supposed to save myself. I can't tell you what my mission statement is in life. I don't know if it's to live or if it's to die.
An example of bitterness I had was not only the pain in my heart, but the wine in my mouth to dilute my hatred toward him. ...Which could also be an example of how incredibly hard it was not to love him.
The more I hold on the less control I have. I'm wondering if I take my hands off, if I'll crash, if I'll sink, if I'll dive, or if I'll fly.
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