I am not a graceful person.
I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset.
I am a Tuesday 2 am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February.
My bones crack on a nightly basis.
I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness.
I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen.
The way the light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm.
You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
***
I just want to be good at something.
I want a dream I can actually follow.
A talent that could someday get me a job I love.
I don’t want to be a mediocre at everything.
But I am.
— via tumblr
Somehow I’m amazed how come the words above suit me well. Maybe it means that I’m not alone.
fireworks 