[“can you really stop the heaviness in your breathing? I mean, we’re all fighting for our lives when you really think about it. Fucking think about it. Think deeper than you were ever taught”]

I think it’s soft beneath the surface.

We crack like glass. My edges aren’t rigged, they’re just aged. Not from getting older – it’s just from everything that’s happened. Like how the rocks we threw into the lake were warped and broken down. They’ve been at the mercy of the current and there’s no stopping it. Feel the sharpness graze my fingertips.

I wish I could live in the dark spaces that cut through the sky. You know, where the light peaks through from the moons halo? I think everyone can pinpoint the moment that shattered their spirits. This is normal. This is bending in a world that made us believe it’s all linear.

But, it’s not. It’s fucking not. It’s crumbling sandstone on soft skin. It’s slicing your arm open on the sharp edge of one of the stumps they tore down in the woods near our house. It’s laughter then remembering sadness, then laughing again because the world is so fucking rigorous. It’ll bring you to your knees, and not for the sake of praying. Makes you want to repent in a way that no human should, but that’s all we are, I guess. Living beings that feel too much – like the sting from the splinters in your arm.

And sometimes I think I’m a bit more than human. Let me explain: I feel the trees breath and the water turn holy. I let it wash away my sins and believe it’s an act of truth. That can’t be of this world, right ? Maybe I came from the moon, after all. I’m just soaking in it’s glow if I can stay awake long enough. And through all the chaos you just counted my feathers because you swore I was the angel in all this. I thought the same about you- I still do.

So when the current starts to give and I feel the shaking surface crack, I’ll meet you in the middle because that’s where we rest. Let the saltwater heal our wounds like some sort of magic. You’ll say hello and laugh like it never happened- then we’ll cry about it later in a echo to the universe. We’ll curse it for ever trying to claim us- to know us. we’ll be that force like an impact with a soft landing.

Fall like a feather. Always fall like feather, because even though the world told us that everything is made from stone, I still think it’s soft beneath the surface.