i'm the sort of girl made up of a million piece jigsaw puzzle. i have plain and downright ugly colors, but that only makes it easier for you to see the rainbow inside.
im not saying im the sort of girl that needs to be put back together as if she's broken, but i am saying im the sort of girl with a few pieces missing that tries to close up the hole because she's afraid the colors will leak out.
im the sort of girl that likes to inhale starfish and coral because that way, when i die someday, my inside will be beautiful.
im not the sort of girl that craves attention, but i am the sort of girl to take away the microphone and turn the lights off so i when i say something i want you all to hear.
im the sort of girl made of music held together by weeds growing in my cracked concrete exterior.
im the sort of girl who can either be your best friend or your worst enemy- provided you choose to push me away.
and we haven't even touched half my pieces yet...
I miss you so much! I am tossing and turning because I can not see your glowing face. The clouds in the sky are blocking you from my sight. I love you Moon, I want to embrace you so badly! It hurts being so fare away from the one you love. I try to get up on the shore to get closer to you but only to be thrown back. So I leap into the air off the rocks, but gravity pulls me back. This accursed place will never let me go and I want this pain to end. Please, fall from the sky and into my arms!
Love,
-Ocean
I've been hurt before. How do you think I became lifeless? I crave your touch, it's true, but I, too, am held back. Do you not see these light cone ropes that chafe at my already raw skin? I can fight, yes, but to what end? Do I fall only to be hurt? Do I listen to the Sun Gods when they warn me of your past deception?
Or do I listen to you, my dearest ocean? My heart is confused, as is my head. The only thing that is constant is this: You have hurt me once; and it cannot be repaired. But can we start over?
I desire you. I desire your love, your touch, your soft breath on my skin. But for now I must hang here in Limbo in a noose not of my design, but of my deserving.
Love,
-moon