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For the bad girl who wants to be called “good girl” There are no heroes here— And the villains take what they want.
His eyes were bright blue, nearly the color of the glaciers I saw hiking the other day. There was something wild and almost feral about him.
“No, you like authority and dominance. And you can be controlling without being an asshole.”
“Don’t worry sweetheart,” I said as I turned my back to her. “When I touch you, it’ll only be after you beg me to.”
She was a wildfire someone tried to contain in a fireplace—it just didn’t work.
It is in the breaking, we become whole again. It is through darkness, we find the stars. Somewhere between the soul and the self, we find what we’re made of.
“You deserve to feel whole,” he said against my neck. “You are gorgeous when you come. But that is your gift to give me. Not mine to take.” He kissed me again.
When a star falls to earth we make a wish Their undoing is our redemption What then does it mean when a soul shatters? If we are stardust and moon rise, fragments of the universe, surely we come undone only to be made whole again. An unraveling— of the broken and the beautiful. Just as we wish upon a starfall, Maybe our pieces that shatter, Our soulfall—are the wishes the stars make on us.
Why do we compare the heart to love? It’s violent if you think about it A bloody piece of me, I give to you Or you rip it from me Then it bleeds, it breaks, it skips a beat I hold the pieces in my hands and watch the road to redemption run red.
Except now I don’t think we only break once. I think we break a thousand times, again and again, so our pieces can find the ones we fit together with and those pieces heal—refining and reshaping each time. Maybe we need to break in order to expand and maybe we need to shatter across the universe in order to find the pieces of others who fit in those spaces left behind.
