An angel of sorts took me in, fed my belly and my head, sharing with me compelling confessions of her inner most pain. I will continue to think about her all the fucking time. She listened to some of my own stories as well (tales of how we ache to feel, wish, dream, explode) and became a most important addition to this circus, my saga, my life. There are these scars we share (and your scars, I adore) inside and out. They're most beautiful, always. I suppose if I had just one wish, I'd give it to you to use it any way you see fit, whether it be on others or yourself. Tonight I shoot my arrow, knowing it'll bounce off of all the others and stick to you. But this one won't hurt a bit, because I don't bite anymore.