Now and again..

I used to have theories, I used to understand some things. I used to be able to see the constellations, I used to understand the meanings of my dreams.

My hands used to feel stronger, and my heart used to feel less bruised. I think I had less hunger then, a chemical reaction to being abused.

I hide when I am overwhelmed, always an empty bathroom, or a cold alley at night. Spontaneously, tears flow whenever I experience anything that is beautiful, tragic, or prismatic with light.

Worst of all, I convince myself of an end before one ever arrives. Then, I dive into sadness, tearing myself into paper pieces, pretending it was wise.

(models - Randi and Sean)