my fingers touch to meet, but i do not feel. there is a hairline crack in the mirror where i do not see myself. almost unnoticeable, hiding like a ghost, but upon discovery, it yawns open like the grand canyon and engulfs me into velvet folds of darkness, and i tumble into air through rushes of wind onto rough hewn patches of grass and rocks on a cliff in an in-between space where no-one can find me.
i have not been here, but this place remembers me. there is a beach below, and there is the ocean, and there is the wind, and time is indefinite; there is something raw about this – this dry cool air with the sound of the waves hurting the land . i want to know what to feel, and if this is an illusion, how do i make it real.
won’t you kill me now. i am not beautiful for this life, and there is a fragility no-one understands. i thought you could, you said with your eyes full of promises, but in the end, it is all the same, and none for the better.
a few steps towards the direction of the tide, at the edge of the pinnacle, here lies the top which meets the end. i stand for a moment feeling the wind whip my hair around my face, and i close my eyes, breathe in the saltiness of the sea – my tears – before stretching my arms out like in crucifixion. i am alone but everything that has cut me deep is with me, and as i turn and fall from the push you do not know you gave, i will look back up with bleeding swollen lips and dark sad eyes – through me you will feel the wind slashing unmercifully at my skin and the night rushing to swallow me up – and i will become smaller and smaller–