PenToThePage

there were dead birds and fragile things hanging on the clothesline. you liked to look at them because it made you feel more secure; less like scraps of fabric and snips or newspapers tied loosely with dental floss. so you hung ribcages and tea cups and our love on the clothesline because fragile things made you feel less alone. "I'm not afraid of dying; I'm afraid of leaving." you whispered to the stars. the air grew heavy. "I don't like the idea that this is all there is, because there's so much more I want to be. I want to be beautiful." I was always more afraid of living, because living meant that there were no excuses. I agreed, though

We are all made up of the same things. protons and neutrons and electrons make up everyone; our mass is 65% oxygen. it's 0.002% silicon and 0.00000000000000001% radium. the saxophonist wailing in the underground world of the new york subway, the single mother of two, the starving artist sitting in a booth at a café, listening to that band you've never heard of. we are all so different, but we are the same. we all have 206 bones. we are different, our hearts in varying conditions. we are all the same, and we can mend them together.