The girl with the sunset eyes and the boy with hands like glass.

He fell in love with her because she was so beautiful when she cried.

He hated to see her in tears, but when she cried, streaks of blue and orange and yellow and pink fell down her cheeks.

On sad days,

his eyes tell me stories –

stories of pain,

of struggle,

of truth.

They hold within them soft, grey clouds after April afternoon storms.

But the sky is bright without the sun,

because it is never truly gone.

My record player- The warm sound of “Ultraviolence” circling through my room like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Connected with the music. 

Quite a lot to say but such little time,

We are all stuck in the crime of rhythm and rhyme.

Forgive my silence, my pen is running dry.

Don't know if I'll make it but I can promise to try.