i'm not a graceful person. i am not a sunday morning or a friday sunset. i am a tuesday 2am, i am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, i am a broken window during february. my bones crack on a nightly basis. i fall from elegance with a dull thud, and i apologize for my awkward sadness. i sometimes believe that i dont belong around people, that i belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. the way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. you don't see the lightning, but you hear the echos.
