Your fingerprints are all over who I am now.
She was the primeval ocean and she emerged as herself of herself and all has come forth through and from her. She is self existent, and her nature is secret, a mystery to all.
My mouth is a fire escape. The words coming out don’t care that they are naked, there is something burning in here.
She was a curious girl who loved the smell of old books, chasing butterflies and touching herself under the covers.
You keep telling me to be glad for what we had while we had it.
That the brightest flame burns quickest.
Which means you saw us as a candle.
And I saw us as the sun.
― Iain S. Thomas, I Wrote This For You