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Alone. I want you to say it.  Let the word rest like honeysuckle on your trembling tongue. Savour the sugar, forget the bite.  Don’t look away. Alone. You walk like you carry explosives in your thighs and you want the city to drown in light. Ma’ calls you  trouble, wild thing. Says to silent the laughter, the sobs, thinks you’ll be dead by 20 if you keep this up.  The metal on your face glints in the light and she claims battle cry but you say “blanket”.   Blanket. It’s where you keep the old haunts buried, in that skeletal land between you and sleep. Dreams get tangled in your sheets, scarlet lips and forked tongues. The old beast telling you that you’ll never get far. There’s a bit of Hell in you, and you deserve what you got. The long nights on the phone, the fist to the loins, the promise of gluttony disguised as love. Blanket. I want you to burn it. Burn them all: the cotton, the linen, the monster nibbling your neck with its hands down your pants.  Throw the remains to the sky and let them dance in the sun. Don’t look away. Never look away. Smile. Because you’ve made it. Because you can. Not like you used to, all forced lines and psychosis in the eyes. Do it for the spice of it. For the texture. For the taste of a grin that taunted death, and won.

Elisa V, To Téa, Part 2. (via inkchantments)

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“I do believe we’ve known each other since forever.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You know how? When the Big Bang happened, all the atoms in the universe were all smashed together into one little dot that exploded outward, so my atoms and your atoms were certainly together then and… who knows, probably smashed together several times in the last 13.7 billion years, so my atoms have known your atoms and they’ve always known your atoms. My atoms have always loved your atoms.”