You are strong palms, tired bones, you are good foundations out of stone.
You are asphalt and where you grew up, you are the swingset and the night sky. You are the smell of toast and your mother’s coffee.
You are forge, you come with bellows and fire and bronze. You are granite. You come with hard history, witches in your hair and sickness in your heartbeat. They made you death. They made you dying.
She is clockwork systems, she is malfunction, you can see her strum her own funeral aria. She is crying over her tiny lily headache, she is trying to explain why she’s always coupled with a misty cloud of complete self-hatred.
You hold her hand. You breathe life. You know how cold space is, you disintegrate it. You bring her body against yours until her trembling stops. Her arms are a shaky circle around you. She murmurs a thanks you don’t feel you deserve.
She is shadows, you are light. Without her, you are not defined.
She is static, but you are radio. Wherever she is, you find yourself home.Magnesium: black, part 9/9 in the rainbow series // r.i.d (via inkskinned)