Wishing Out The Window

“The clock reads 4:23 AM and you sleep so gently next to me, I’m afraid if I breathe too hard you’ll float away. Our feet make hills at the bottom of the bed, the window cracked open so we have an excuse every night to brush warm shoulders. Here, peace is a verb. It is every rise of chest, every beauty mark on the body we’ve come to share. This meeting place of love. This fragile, humming pasture of passing time.”

“You will never be completely at home again because part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.”

in another timeline, i practiced ballet until i was 17, fell in love with the stage, and seas of audiences with shadows ribboned across their faces, found peace in a pair of pink slippers, the spectators use of words like ‘elegant’ & 'holy’ & ‘must be an angel’ how my skin always glowed. 

although it’s an inherent trait of a creator to be hypercritical of their own work, sometimes to the point of exhaustion, i feel that the most important thing you can do is to be proud of yourself for what you’ve made or else the joy of creation will become an ever fleeting high.