certain strangers are beautiful. at first when you meet them you are drawn to their eyes, and you don’t realise your own shimmering like moonstones until they tell you.
this night-time i am wholly able to hear the sweetly singing emotions of my volatile heart, and even if i am tired of feeling so much all the time, i still wish to feel with the intensity of spewing lava (and the softness of silk), and to never become numb, especially, so that the things dear to me shall remain so for a long time and never once lose their dearness.
half of my heart is happy while the other half dangles in fear (after all this time i still struggle with fear), as it manages to always do to hurt itself over and over. oddly yet i feel slightly, oh maybe tremendously happy that i have redness in my veins and memories of faraway places, like that place with the castle where i wore my butterfly wings, surreptitiously, and i might have collapsed if anyone had tried to touch me.
constellating, james & evander
(noun) the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable