Carolina

 Blindly I took a leap of faith entrusting something abstract. It's like licking a barrel of an empty gun, unknowingly where the roulette will land. I desperately ask the sky for empathy—for it to pass as I age. Only this temple I cut, only this temple I kill­—It's all blurry inside this head I can't seem to think what age my life has stopped. Nobody warned me that this will consume me, nobody asks me if I can bare the weight of this cross—there's no one telling me anything. This is the tragedy of a child who stood too early before the world—she has seen before others were—all she loved, she loved alone. And so being young, they stripped you with joy, and so being old you desire things you wouldn't understood. 

This abandonment was like part of my bones; no one can sense it, yet it's crippling along the shoreline of my humanness. I hide it behind a satin dress—behind the shadow of my ever-longing loneliness. I am made of glimpses of heaven and hell. All I've ever known is between me, the sky, and the sea. It's like having a lover whose face you've never seen.