sometimes you will be lonely. sometimes the world will become an open wound and you will feel as if you are its blood, simply spilling out into the surface of cold skin. sometimes the nights won’t be easy. sometimes the mornings will spit on your face instead of kiss your limbs. sometimes the tears stop and there will be nothing more for you to feel. sometimes you will look for yourself in places no one can ever live— badlands, glass bottles, human lips. sometimes your bones will not be strong enough. sometimes you will fall.
there will come a time when someone becomes the home in every place you thought had no road to travel upon. there will come a time when the world will become an open heart and you will feel as if you are its blood, rushing headfirst through a body that is magnificently alive. the nights will be screaming off of rooftops and long, long, car rides, with the wind rushing through your hair and your hand riding the wind. the morning will lose itself in your body and the sun will make love to you. the time will come when you will know what it is like to weep for joy. there will come a time when you will find yourself in the places you were always meant to reside— the wideness of the skyline, the arms of your mother, human souls. there will come a time when your bones will hold you steady instead. there will come a time when you will rise so high you will forget the ground ever kissed you.
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