Sad Labels:
loneliness
,
math
Stones in her hand. Triggers to see that mirrors do not lie. The ocean in its redundant dance. Still courting the wind. Millenia later these stones in her hand are still their only children.
Flesh has its obvious advantages. And some others that are more difficult to see.
Broken is quite a blessing. I am glass. I fracture. Because the world out there demands letting in. I am glass. You can see through me. If you're not too distracted by your own reflection.
She loses the cork. And the wine is spread. Sour grapes and drunken disciples pretend to know the weight. Of callous strangers. And failing virgins.
She's not ready.
Two stones in her hands. A world made of glass.
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