She stands still for a moment. She takes a deep breath, and her heart (still hot) settles around the dust and the setting sun. And the world stops moving, and maybe it's safe to slow down, to smell the roses.
But her hands are still trembling, and the world still hurts.
(This is something only she knows.)
Her name is not hers anymore. She eats and drinks and breathes like a shadow. Who is she now, with (and without) all this rage? She has nothing but her books and her pain and her empty hands--red and sad, strong and stubborn, like her heartbeat. Like the roses.
Has she gone too far? The edge of the world is sharp, and she still has no answers. But somewhere, deep down, I know she knows. She walks away, past the mission, behind the prison tower. The shadows walk her home.
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Past the Mission (Tori Amos).
Date: 2023-03-04 06:26 pm (UTC)But her hands are still trembling, and the world still hurts.
(This is something only she knows.)
Her name is not hers anymore. She eats and drinks and breathes like a shadow. Who is she now, with (and without) all this rage? She has nothing but her books and her pain and her empty hands--red and sad, strong and stubborn, like her heartbeat. Like the roses.
Has she gone too far? The edge of the world is sharp, and she still has no answers. But somewhere, deep down, I know she knows. She walks away, past the mission, behind the prison tower. The shadows walk her home.