"My atrophied heart wakens" sings the angel, who gave his wings away long ago; his penance for a catastrophe that isn't is his to pay. Striking, striking eyes; Gabriel, Clarence, whoever you are. If miracles exist, do you think that one could happen to me?
Existence in this place is no longer effortless and easy; the realization that I'm surrounded by strangers detaches me from the story that flies in front of my eyes. I struggle to keep up; this constant opening of old wounds and forced self-searching vulnerability begins to spread my sanity too thinly. Tension rises; my muscles tremble as they struggle to hold a pose that isn't comfortable in the slightest. My feet on the ground. Biting lips and wondering why I always make the same mistakes. Discouragement at the failed attempts to redeem myself; fumbling to succeed and floundering. Don't hide your tears. Look around you, we are all the same. Panic, frustration, panic, frustration, short of breath. My lips hurt, my gaze darts from person to person, my face muscles attempt to maintain a calm and collected expression. My heart is screaming, and all I can do is smile peacefully and try not to cry. Where do I go from here; I'm on a plateau and I can't figure out the direction of my next step.
My shoulders ache; bruises the sizes of fingertips decorating my collarbones like stars in the night sky.
'Never forget what I did, what I said, when I gave you all my heart and soul' - Jonsi/Greta Salome
He called it after only thirty minutes of conversation. Everything that defines me in that one word: the darting of my eyes down, the pendulum of my foot, the finger to my lips, the nervous laughter, the reddening cheeks. I fall silent when I'm thinking, but I can barely look away. My bare naked soul on the table next to your tea bag and my coffee. How was it so easy for him to notice the root of who I am; something I barely even understand myself?
Perception: terrifying, comforting. A friend.