mornings on suburban trainsdearest, you have thunder in your eyesmornings on suburban trains by *rachel-rhapsody
and lacing your fingertips
the mornings that you sit across from me on suburban trains; they are the brightest mornings of all. i could spend the whole trip admiring each curl in your hair and the shape of each fingernail if only i had the time. sometimes our legs brush when we sit across from each other, and my heart skips, but i don't think you even notice. your gaze lingers on the scenery outside the window; as if you wished you were outside too. as if the train was a cage.
if only you would let me, i could brighten your mornings too.
the afternoons that we exit the train at the same stop, t
ascots and petticoats.i know that you play crosswords just to distractascots and petticoats. by ~injuredjaw
yourself from your own gray existence. all
those letters in all those boxes ― it reminds you
of sad-eyed animals in the zoo, of your own
face pressed to the glass of so many windows
to help you understand the patterns of falling
rain. the wind is impervious, it is the only
indestructible thing in the world, you think.
the sound of cellos makes you cry. i know this.
the technological term for something
wretched. when you hung your head out
of the window of a moving train, you held the
sunshine between y
still.one.still. by ~create-illusions
her name is alice. there is a slight blood stain on the valley where her lips part, and her eyes are two supermassive black stars that can't show anything but hurt. she can't bring herself to look in the broken mirror puddles that are all over the ground.
(and i don't blame her)
she borrows her mother's raincoat because it smells like home. not the homes that are flooded with laundry soap or soft candles burning in the family room, but more like the paint she spilled on the carpet, or the whiskey on her father's breath.
strings of pearls and breathunderwater they are mermaids. patterns of poolwater-caught sunshine dancing in soft-edged white upon their long legs (tails). red hair like ocean fire and fingers ever reaching for the bubbles, like pearls but from out their mouths. darting up between their fingers.strings of pearls and breath by ~Pretty-As-A-Picture
there are places here, beneath here, beneath the sound of their mother yelling at their father and the loud rough of the neighbours dogs bark, where they can breathe. breathe the dead leaves in water whirlpools beneath their feet and breathe the chlorine, leaving eyes red and hair green at the tips. breathe the quiet of their bodies and their imagined underwater world