How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?
I am glass. Your fingerprints and exhales have long since forsaken my clarity. However, you are not the sea; my edges are still as sharp as the day we met, and I am just as fragile in your grip.
Hold me too tight and we both will bleed.
Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just “pretty.”