Every night I have this vision of a girl. She has gashes on her wrist and a terrified look in her eyes. Her knees are shaking in the dark. She held a letter in her hand with unwritten words and unread paragraphs. Tears. I can see tears on her cheeks, but she's smiling.
Some nights the vision changes but the girl remains. Some nights she's holding up a red balloon with a tired look in her eyes. Her palms are bleeding and her gaze seems worried. Her eyes wander from the cracks on the pavement to the string in her hand. She's exhausted. I can feel it.
Some other nights the girl is sitting down at the center of a room with a notebook in her hand. Her eyes shut as she filled the pages with her blood. The pages are bleeding, she whispers with her eyes smiling.
This girl, I've seen her more than a thousand times. She's cautious. She's vulnerable. She's chaotic. She's confused. But I believe that she's not broken. I hope she's not. I hope she's okay. Because I've seen her open herself up a thousand times.
I'm not broken.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Trinkets
PoesíaIf you want to read without the commitment, this is the perfect book for you. You can open it and read a few excerpts once in a while, or you can read it in one go. The entries here have various themes which may confuse readers as it confused the wr...
