I feel like falling through time

feel the wind on my face for centuries

I feel like screaming my name at the passing clouds

tell them tales of every grain of sand

and of every wave that beats against the rocks

I feel like falling deep into the eyes

of everyone who has ever smiled at the sun

as it shone golden on their skin

I feel like singing at the top of my lungs

about every brushstroke, every letter, every signature

and about every color that's ever been seen

I feel like falling

She is the manifestation of grace. She goes where the wind takes her, a colorful mass of elegance fluttering where she pleases. Quick and delicate as glass, she is swept away in the breeze. How is it that such a minor detail, a mere spot in the fabric of the universe, is so significant? Undoubtedly, she is a distinguishing feature in any scenery she so happens to pass by. Her beauty is much larger than her physical size. The very presence of her bleeds an air of untouched wonder. Much like that of a crisp patch of snow. Untouched and unharmed by human action. She is a fresh sight, birthed by mother nature herself. She is beautiful yet she will not live forever. She will die one day like everything else in the world. However, even though she is not everlasting, in place of her ruins shall sprout a new embodiment of her and all that she symbolized. Her beauty lives on eternally in different forms, a concealed beacon of hope amidst a constant state of chaos, hatred, and destruction. She shines through in the form of light and hope and beauty and she becomes something worth fighting for. She lives on.

<p>There was a young boy</p><p>He was made of stardust</p><p>The boy lived on a planet</p><p>Far in the depths of space</p><p>He made friends with the stars</p><p>But soon they burnt out</p><p>He made friends with asteroids</p><p>But they floated away</p><p>He thought he was alone</p><p>For years he cried</p><p>But then there was something</p><p>Shining so brightly</p><p>It was a diamond</p><p>And she never burnt out</p><p>And she didn't float away</p><p>And they were everlasting</p><p>

</p>

I wiped the sweat off my brow with my forearm. Finally after hours bent over my canvas, I've managed to portray my emotions onto my art and I'm quite satisfied with the result. Honestly the whole process was quite draining, both emotionally and physically. I leaned back and admired my handiwork. Rolling my shoulders, I tore off some paper towels and placed them carefully on my wrists. Blood seeped through the towels almost instantly. I grabbed a&nbsp;clean paintbrush and dipped it in the currently pooling blood.

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