I am afraid sorry that you are going to have to tell me, at every available occasion that I am loved. Because I am made of smoke and I will forget. And my insecurities? I could fit them into the palm of my hand but if I walked into a river carrying their weight, I know I’d drown from it all. And I can’t promise anything but I can tell you that I’ll never get sick of hearing the words. That your lips are a balm and I am so tired of keeping my head from falling back onto every pillow I go near and I know you can’t understand because the nape of my neck looks fragile to you and not heavy at all but you can hold me with the glance of your gaze alone but I cannot keep myself upright when I am alone or when I am lonely I droop like patchwork dolls and the nights you come home to find me collapsed on rugged surfaces are the moments you love me the hardest and the longest ‘Because you look broken’ you whisper into the shell of my ear ‘and I have to hold you together with the strength of my arms alone’ And I cannot count the times you have patiently set glue aside and pieced me into the girl you know again paying special attention to the size of my eyes and the sockets of my arms because I gather you with those and you need that too, not always, not as often and I’m sorry that I dissolve so much and yes, I do forget sometimes when you are talking to me that you are real and although I can’t promise you much I can promise you this I know I’ll never get sick of the words so please please, whisper them a thousand times over into the conch of my ears so I’ll know so they’re the last thing I hear before I leave again and the first thing when I come back.
«The sun is perfect and you woke this morning. You have enough language in your mouth to be understood. You have a name, and someone wants to call it. Five fingers on your hand and someone wants to hold it. If we just start there, every beautiful thing that has and will ever exist is possible. If we start there, everything, for a moment, is right in the world.»