Some days to the world
I am the thunder
Clapping at the lightning I see in others
And on some days
I am the lightning
Striking out, in awe of my own strength
But on most days
I feel like the cloud
That holds within it
The sound and the fury
Of the thunder and the lightning
With no ******* idea
What to do with it all.

i'm still in love with a boy
born in the hottest days of summer
with hair as wild as the winds of the north.

the boy with a heart of gold
and the soul of a small child.

the boy who could probably be a time traveller
in his next life,
just inches away from the galaxies
of his imagination.

the words of a stranger
a hundred realisations
a mixture of salt and water
enough to fill a bowl and a half
the words of another stranger
a cosmic shift
and an inscrutable force of will
is all it took
and some more
for her to pick herself back up
and ride on
and out of the labyrinth.