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you’re sitting in the darkest back corner of the restaurant, shivering, despite the dense, triple-digit heat. you’re the youngest patron here by a few decades at least, but most comfortable in aged, brick-lined spaces like these. you’ve brought a book with you, and your journal in which you write fortunes and letters to yourself. you read, there’s no shame in losing yourself to something as natural as gravity and wonder at the losses you’ve incurred. you don’t know what troubles you more— to be witnessed on the edge, or over it.
today you are jupiter herself. see the storm; the red swirling in the eye? today you are exalted by the sun. today, and forevermore, you are limitless.
you know and i know that this won’t be what you need it to be. you know and i know that sometimes you twist the knife because it hurts and because you want the hurt.