Etched with dirt,
And bruised a lot,
They smile their broken smiles.
Their giggles are too articulate to be real, too divine to be false. Their movements are loud and precise.
Souls; born to run,
And move and turn,
Lie naked and emancipated.
“This is the point where the universe meets” she quivers “everything is perfect”
You can taste the air,
The universe meets here,
Tears are pure.
We aren’t expected to follow rules here. All the universe asks of us is to exist. But, time seems to breathe in surety and breathe out existentialism. How does one find the surety that age and time swallow? Is there a way to stop time? Maybe there is, but honestly…