your feet cannot keep step with themselves.

Aanika;


I think you are one of the most stunning people I have ever talked to. your words seem to crush me in reverse and brace me from the inside out like a hundred







trillion


voices rolling in waves from a frozen sea, igloos encased in my heat, and smoke signals slowly filling the full capacity of my lungs.

don't you look when you feel?


















can you explain to me why everything seems to get smaller inside houses and why idea that pulls into my body until I am looking through a kaleidoscope and the images distort themselves like car alarms in my eyes. I wish I could own these seconds like people own each others hearts.


maybe I'm just selfish.














I have this theory that when your hands were much smaller, you would carry a fleur-de-lys because you still believed. because someone shoved hope into your ribcage. I have these dreams, ya know. in each there is a little girl standing like a pillar of salt and she can't stop outstretching her arms to destruction, though she clearly has a free passage out. she tells me she will continue to be made of salt until her grains stop meshing too harmoniously and she spreads like little snowflakes under my everyone's high arches.


I have a feeling you're something sort of like her.






















I fell in love once, did you know that, Aanika?

I remember pulling my dress over my head in dusty moonlight and climbing on the hood of his car. I remember realigning my lean leg muscles and shifting them into air ballet positions while he smirked.


it was the most exciting time of his life.
it would have been easier if he would just
fucking admit to it.



he adored the way my synapses fire.




I found it funny how he would make love to a free-bird but not a hint of irony or cliche.


I remember having my inner ear melodies that changed my balance, heartbeats that kept screaming it was unintentional.  it used to drive him crazy how irregular my heart would pound. he had a lot of medical knowledge, ya know.


and my heart would echo, echo, echo after him when he was gone.

echoing is hard work when it is as constant as that whole inhaleexhaleinhaleexhale thing.






I quit reverberating awhile ago, now I am just a soft whisper that no one hears but my dying diaphragm.




















I really hope you find someone that cares about you enough to hold your hands in the cold when they're red and nearly frostbitten. I hope you find someone with a heart of gold that hasn't been shoved to the back of a freezer.


I guess all I'm saying is, I want you to be happy. I want you to have warm, unforced smiles. I want you to be as happy as you are beautiful.




I don't think that is asking too much, right?




















Aanika;

I am going to remember you.




I promise.



















Love,





Emma.