A breeze blows up, touching my cheek like a little child's kiss. It flutters a piece of paper. "Trash, out there? Must belong to one of us." We move closer, and when I reached for it, I find...... a perfect paper airplane.

When did creating a flawless facade become a more vital goal than learning to love the person who lives inside your skin?

She's no longer afraid to die. What she's afraid of is living, accepting the status quo.

I whisper and you close your eyes. I speak and you turn away. If I scream, will you finally hear me beg you to hold me close to you, promise you'll never let go?

I tattered their wings and tore off their legs, joint by joint, watched them crawl in circles, like little lost infants, untill they decide to die.

Detailed descriptions, abstract ambitions, relevant observations, your's and mine.

Words have power. The power to soothe. The power to skewer someone through the heart. The power to render someone speechless.