I’m on the
It’s round, and it only takes ten minutes to walk to the other side.
It’s made of sand, not rock, but sometimes I discover caves that take me deep under the ocean,
so deep my ears pop,
but I don’t mind,
because it’s beautiful, and I can feel the vibrations of the blue that surrounds me.
I paint. I paint a lot.
Sometimes I paint on the cave walls, sometimes on the sand. Sometimes, on myself, or a canvas, or in the ocean.
I love the ocean.
Sometimes, I am the ocean.
I can float in the ocean, and not have to worry about anything.
Fears and lies are gone. Just me, and the rocking of the velvet that surrounds my entire being.
I can just drift away.
It is my sanctuary.
I’m very, very pale. My body is perfect, though it isn’t really perfect.
It serves its purpose. I don’t need clothes because I have my skin. I’m stripped down to the bareness of my soul.
My hair is long, past my butt, down almost to my knees. And it’s my natural, untainted color, dirty blonde. It suits me perfectly.
I don’t have wings, but I can fly if I want to. I don’t need wings to fly, because it’s natural.
She is there, but only when I need her. She’s almost me, but she isn’t.
Her hair is different. It’s a bit shorter, but it’s curly, so it’s longer when it’s wet.
She’s my best friend, and she’s perfect. She has always been perfect.
We aren’t lovers, because on the
That kind of longing doesn’t exist.
She is pale, too, and her eyes are sort of green. We don’t really need to talk, but we do, sometimes.
There isn’t too much to talk about, since we don’t worry anymore.
We don’t lie, or cheat, because everything is fair.
I’m alone sometimes, and I’m with her sometimes, because she knows me.
She knows that I know her, too. We know what we need, and when we need each other.
We aren’t afraid to sleep, because we know that we can sleep as long and as deeply as we want, and nothing will ever get us.
We do not age.
I love the
I’m glad I came here.
But sometimes, I think about life, and people that were there.
But not really, because there was never a point.
Burdens, unhappiness, striving for something better.
I am something better.
This is something better.
This is it.