there was a darkness filling the air in their lungs, but yet every time they exhaled they released columns of light into the night sky above them. great smoke stacks spewed silver plumes into the distance, smoke hanging low in the rich dark sky, flaming flecks of light contrasted against the limitless horizon. the city was a vast, intricate labyrinth of tiny lights; golden man-made stars burning like embers fallen from the sun. it was as if somebody had taken a fist full of glitter and blown it across the city, watching as it fell to earth, shimmering and sparkling brightly with gold and white light. i sat above all of it, the ground below me alive with dazzling light. roads twisted and snaked through the maze of buildings everywhere i looked i could see millions of shining lights sprawled beneath me, gleaming brilliantly, flickering passionately.
i never wanted to love her; in fact i tried not to. i tried so hard to convince myself i didn't love her, i couldn't love her. every time i thought about her i told myself how wrong it was to love her, but even though i knew it was wrong, it always felt so right. i didn't fall in love with her in the cliche way; when the girl starts to fall in love slowly, i crashed hard and it left me with scars and the metallic taste of blood on my tongue. loving her made me want to pretend that she didn't exist, because everything would be so much simpler if i had never met her, but she had all of me in love with her with just one glance of her piercing eyes, and suddenly all the love songs i heard on the radio were about her, and when people asked me who i liked, her smile was the only i thought of. i got jealous when she told me about how boys would sometime give her flowers,
you try to tell me that "i am not like most girls," as if this will somehow make me feel better about myself; as if you almost think that is a good compliment. but those other "girls" are my friends, my sisters, my mother. and yet you think that you are complimenting me, believing that i will graciously accept your kind words, when you are really insulting me and my sisters. there are so many other ways to tell me you love me, to tell me that i am special and worthy of loving, but you saying that i am not like other girls is not a good way to tell me you love me. you can tell me you love me not because i am different than other girls, but because i am kind. or you can say that i have a nice smile, or that i am smart. there are so many other ways to lift a women's confidence. you can give me a compliment without putting other women down.
she was the kind of girl who could find beauty in anything, but no matter how hard she tried she could never find it in herself. she was such a beautiful, heart breaking tragedy. her tiredness marked the weathered lines on her pale face, and creases formed wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth but when she smiled the lines faded away and for a moment she was beautiful, but as she grew older her smiles became less frequent and distant. she was just a child when she realized that the world was a not a kind place for people like her. she was a brown haired, chicken-legged, freckled-faced thing scared and lonely, but unsure of why, not understanding why the other kids never wanted to play. she would write stories in her head and try to tell her parents and her neighbors and the kids at school, but no one listened because she didn't have a beautiful face to match her beautiful ideas.
i woke up next to you, unmoving as i watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest. pale sunlight streamed in through an open window and i could feel a breeze stirring my hair softly. i watched the dust in the room float slowly, illuminated in the golden sunlight like little dancing stars. i could see the messy smudges of paint on your hands and face and i remembered last night as we bit our lips and tugged our hair in concentration. the mixture of exhaustion and relief as we finally finished our first mural together. i remembered the sound of pencils scratching against paper, your eyes wild and gleaming as you finished your sketch, holding up your work proudly with your crooked, shy grin. it reminded me of when you were happy, you used to be so passionate and full of energy, but so much changed in the last few months, and i could remember you staring up at me beneath a veil of hair,