Tell me that's not beautiful.

There was a storm. The sky would flash silver every now and then and my heart would leap.

The sky subsequent to a storm is when it is truely at it's most beautiful. The sky glows an odd colour and the moon is enveloped in amber-tinted hues. It's when the realisation hits you, that we are so small, so insignificant. That the world and the atmosphere is so vast. It's almost as though you can see beyond the sky, past the washed-out clouds and the stars scattered like glitter on velvet. Venus is closer than we think.

Bones, sinking like stones.

I'm surprised I haven't cried yet. It's nothing like me. Normally, by this point I'm a mess all over. Swollen face and dewy lashes. I'm a mess inside because nothing fits together.
And there was me, thinking everything was lovely, and how everytime I think of your kisses I sparkle. Maybe it's because this time it was different.
My heart sinks when I think.
I need to stop thinking, but it takes a lot to not do that.

Because honestly, you are perfect.
And now you are gone.

"Never give up on someone you can't go a day without thinking about."

You're on my mind. Every day.

Ghosts.

I promise there are ghosts clinging to my ankles, they refuse to let go.

Numb

I want to be awoken by the sun streaming through my window. I want to run around bare foot without being followed by muddy footprints and I want to thread delicate daisy chains around my wrist. I've had this recurring vision of myself alone on a dimly lit beach with the sound of the waves lapping and a distant lighthouse faded against the horizon. It's not necessarily a beautiful day outside, but the gentle breeze that tangles my hair is very comforting.