The moon is forming. Arising from the east, “if you stare hard enough”, brother says, “you’ll blossom into a princess”. He says, into anything I desire.
Tears trickle unrestrained, down down down to the angle of her lips. She wipes it away, so he inquires, “why are you so sad?” and she replies “I don’t know, why does God exist?”
A nice saunter into town she thought, and I will back to my old self. This isn’t a lie. It’s a confabulation. We can only believe what we tell ourselves; even when seeing is believing.
If the clouds turn bloody, pasted against the dark skies, one glance at it will ignite a fire in her ego, one that cannot be extinguished until the subsequent days.
If you didn’t know yet, you wouldn’t know later. “What is wrong with me?”, the question that constantly nags her so, why would I chose violet when peers dance in shades of blue? Why would I trace my lips in green even after she said, and I know, it made me look like an ogre.
Unable to soar high, she destroyed her wings so that no one else would, so that she would have a reason to look to the skies and watch eagles soar, so that she would have a reason to make a wish.
But enough if this tomfoolery, enough of these mind games, enough of these flimsy excuses, enough!.
The clouds she sees are crimson, they blend into each other projecting their effect on top of themselves. Like two koi fishes engaging in a deadly war, each fighting to conceal the other.
You can tell her a million and one times that what she’d done is beneath her, but she may never seize to emulsify fire & blood.