Delicate
‘It’s not that we’re scared, it’s just that it’s delicate…’ I am playing Damien Rice again… I missed him, I haven’t been listening to him in ages… ‘So why do you fill my sorrow with the words you’ve borrowed from the only place you’ve known…’
‘You give me miles and miles of mountains and I’ll ask for the sea…’ I feel like he’s serenading me to sleep and here I am slowly thumping my fingers on my keypad… sleepy… I woke up today alive as ever, awake as before… delicate…
I’m staring at the things that I have to accomplish, it’s heavy but I want to dangle it in my eyes… I will lie down for a while, think of how someone used to sing me a lullaby as I close my eyes… I am fragile, so as everything I touch…
I hit the mute button to silence the music. I don’t think I’m petrified of silence anymore… it’s soothing that way…
White, same as the surface of the canvass I have in my hands… I’ll paint colors on it… neons, nothing pale, everything thick and heavy…
