I Stand Here Waiting. To

I Will Be Thin And Pure Like A Glass Cup. Empty. Pure As Light. Music. I Move My Hands Over My Body - My Shoulders, My Collarbone, My Rib Cage, My Hip Bones Like Part Of An Animal Skull, My Small Thighs. In The Mirror My Face Is Pale And My Eyes Look Bruised. My Hair Is Pale And Thin And The Light Comes Through. I Could Be A Lot Younger Than Seventeen. I Could Be A Child Still, Untouched.

At Least The Girls In Stories Were Alive Before They Died.

Our Eyelashes Brushed Like They Would Weave Together By Themselves, Turning Us Into One Wild Thing. I Say, “i Think I Missed You Before I Met You Even.

I Believe We Recover From Loss By Facing The Loss, Grieving, Going Deep Inside Ourselves (hopefully With A Guide) And Re-emerging To Live And Love Again.

It Was Always A Relief When She Came Home To Him. Like Water Or Food. Like Music Or That Moment When You Cut Yourself With A Knife And Squeeze The Skin And No Blood Oozes Out.