some kind of wonderful

There was something beautiful and strange in vulnerability, she decided. In the moment when it felt as though every occurance in the world, every tiny interaction and experience was drilling into your skin, the feeling when you believed you were the entirety of mankind- Atlas bearing the world on his shoulders.

The peculiar blossoming pressure in the gap between your spine and shoulderbones, a weight where wings should grow.

There was a relationship to be had in self-reflection, in those times of existence when consciousness was filtered and drained through a lense beyond ones own, a lense of the intermost soul.

She knew her own emptiness, the bones in her that were still blank slates, awaiting their fate to be etched in by time.  She decided she was glad she didn't know what the words would be. 

The faint echos of the music that would trickle into her future was playing somewhere, softly.

She let a finger fall into her reflection, sending out tiny ripples that fluttered and shook the image. 

Just like that, she thought, it all could change. 

When the pieces floated back her image shone like she had never seen,

 the sun had slipped into the right place in the midst of the chaos.