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I wrote this as part of a short story n i just rlly luv it

Akira, I know what love is now. I understand what you meant when you said all of that. Akira, come back to me. We’re together but so far apart.

Please.

Akira, I know what love is. I love you, Akira.

You’ve been with me for so long. Please, don’t leave me again.

Pick a cloud just to pin it down and wear it in your hair.

Jump up to catch its soft strands, its feathery wisps; piles of tufted snow sailing through the air, cotton candy stretched so thin it melts the moments you try to taste it.

Life is like a cloud.

It comes in a million shapes and sizes and it offers no guarantees, no certainties, no sympathies for the man who told his kid he’d fly a kite today, no promises for the weary world and the wants wants wants of which it has too many today.

Life is like that.

Sometimes full and fluffy and floating along and sometimes dark and angry and sobbing sobbing sobbing anger and passion and vengeance and retaliation.

It’s agony

It’s anguish

It’s a gift, a lesson, a reminder.

Because only once the storm passed, only once the tears have flooded the rivers and gorged the ground and washed away the dirt, the debris, the destruction and decay, only then-

Only then will the sun step outside

smile to the sky

and dare to shine.

ignore how cringe they are but yeah here’s some very unfinished lyrics:

Sometimes i like to pretend that clouds in the sky are towering mountains in the distance

And when I take a shower I take almost an hour cause i stand and close my eyes

Pretending the water drops on my head are rain

it was for an assignment:

My apologies for letting the fear consume me.

My apologies for not standing up for myself.

I realize now that it was not worth packing away

in the forgotten files of my mind

My apologies for hating the very thing I have become.

My apologies for not understanding myself until now.

I never realized how healing it could be to set myself free.

TW: alludes to sh/depression

Communion Wine

Jesus,

If I could take your place I think I would,

‘Cause I don’t know what it feels like to be good.

And god it must have felt awful up on that cross,

But at least you know they took solace in your loss,

And in your death?

Was it worth it?

Even though they misinterpret,

These wrists-

Manacled to a wooden cross,

Red lines embossed

Like wine from communion

That drips down my fingertips,

You drip down my fingertips and stain these porcelain tiles,

Why are the faithless always burdened with god’s trials?