Words and Whispers

There are clouds in my eyes every time I look up.

I’m searching for myself in window panes and streetlights, trying to get back to that time before I lost heartbeat to moment, fingertip to raindrop. Like dropping feathers on the asphalt and chasing kites on the horizon, hoping for that sudden gust of wind that will carry me away, leave me flying above the dirt and grime of it all. Becase everything is beautiful twice removed. But my knees won’t bend and my feet won’t move and my hands keep stealing all the words I try to speak. I am less than perfect, more than flawed, and waiting for my somewhere in-between.

I thought maybe it was you, but it’s a one-way mirror. The rules never seem to apply.

And I don’t know how much longer I can stand here, looking for the sunrise and hoping to find my way back on nothing more than breadcrumbs and ashes. There must be more than this. Some other way to get there from here. I need to find a way to breathe without tripping over every blade of grass along the way. I need to hold on, or I need to let go. Something has to give.

Everything else has already faded to gray.


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