I am made of scales, and for each person who meets me, another one flakes off. I wonder how long it will take until I have a new skin, all fresh and new and living, but for now, everything that is dead about me disappears. I flutter to the ground, to mingle with the dirt and I wonder if anyone notices. I want gentle hands to pick me up, rub my skin and warm me up, before planting me softly in fresh peat to grow strong again. I want you to cradle me in the moonlight while we sing sonatas, but that is just a dream for now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hold you tight, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe again. I don’t know. Come fly away with me and prove me wrong, prove to me that I am strong.

7:55 pm  •  6 January 2012  •  40 notes