“I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday
morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2 a.m., I am gunshots muffled by
a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack
on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I
apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t
belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t
happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm.
You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.”
(Anna Peters)
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