maybe this isn’t the kind of love that deserves to exist. maybe it’s the kind that wars start over. the kind that topples empires and never leaves the world better than it found it.
was i expected to find solace in these people? i felt alone, perfectly alone. so alone i felt divine. divine like a lonely god unfathomable to anyone but herself.
for most people, their ghost is inside them, waiting to float out when they die. but my ghost is in pieces. it’s all over the place, caught in all the spots where i snagged myself.
that’s all speaking is. listening to the other and trying to see past your own biases to glimpse what they’re trying to say. showing yourself to the world, and hoping someone else understands.
reality was, after all, just so malleable – facts could be forgotten, truths suppressed, lives seen from only one angle like a trick prism, if only one resolved never to look too closely