Unedited Email from my Lilly

i dreamt of you as well. i dreamt of marrying you in my jeans and this really cute abstract top (it looked like sand and paint, it was so beautiful, like something we could make together) but i was crying and barefoot. so you took my face and ask me if i just wanted to run, and we did. i could tell you were hurt because i couldnt go through with the ceremony but you still took care of me. it was all very sad, but so beautiful, like moving paintings, and the funny thing was, in the "church" (it was just a very steep hill, just grass no flowers and some sort of arc, i cant really remember) all the guests were people with beaks, like mr. blackbird and somehow, i knew that the Girl Who Broke The Sun was the "priest". like all my stories, unspoken and unwritten, come to life.

i guess the best story of all, is ours. how we both live in our heads and say things we dont mean but love as hard as we can. two lonely kids with nothing but pens, refusing to file for bankruptcy of the imagination.

The dance of glass winged butterflies in the hall of a thousand flickering candles

Little glass butterflies with their fickle glass wings.
Glinting of colors of memories that bloom and blossom and die and wither anew
Blinding little flashes of brilliant color with every tiny flutter
Memory butterflies, so enchanting with their endless dance and silent songs
Little tiny butterflies that catch and turn the light of thousands of tiny candles
Orange glows of a million moments caught forever in wicks made of thought and dream dust
Little flames that burn with every thought past and forgot
Facettes of light and soft glow made brilliant by fickle glass wings
Wings of pretty little butterflies
Wings of glass and memory and other such fragile things
And as Lord Time breathes a breeze of merciless forgot and rot and cold icy wind
Butterfly wings break in the relentless wind like a child's peircing cry
Little shattered wings litter dark marble floors of memories left for no one
Like glittering stars on a blanket of cold sorrow
With no one left to remember to sweep up the precious broken memory wings
No one left to remember how to dream of little fluttering wings
That catch and glint in the glow of a thousand candle lights

No hearts

Whispered thought and little paper boats
Flow through coherent dreams and faceless whispers
Memories of forgotten dreams and promises nailed to the ground
With little songs and fluttering broken wings
Butterflies of green and red and colors of breath
Of new green leaves and the smell of grass under the pitter patter of rain
Of eight little splindly legs on silky threads of breath and rumbling hunger
Clutching at fluttering wings with hungry dull eyes
Of walls of stone and of concrete and wood and glass
Walls hold secrets of whispers
Secrets
And walls
And whispers
And posting little paper hearts
And ecthed little red scribbles
And little stone tears
And memories of hearts in boxes and wings on shoes
Of little eyes on the back of ones eyes
Little tongues that wound and hunger and whisper
The walls have no hearts
The walls have no dreams
They have ears, and they whisper secrets and whispers when you dream
They have no hearts child.
No hearts

Little confetti paper girl

Who's that prancing on the roof?
Who's that little girl throwing little paper conffeti hearts?
Little paper hearts that cut you when you try to catch them.
And my hands are already crimson, little paper girl.
A crimson trickle that smells of rust, and of memories of tears and of ruffled little girl wings.
Wings that will no longer take to the sky.
Little confetti hearts that flutter like little girl wings.
Memories of flight and of love forgot.
Whos that prancing on the roof?
Little footsteps on the roof.
Tippy tap of little girl feet.
Running across the redish blue darkening sky.
Dusk trickling down slender little arms.
Dance prance and skip on top of the world little girl.
Playing with paper thin butterfly wings the color of dreams.
Shifting dreams and visions play on your eyes little girl.
Red eyes the color of fervor.
Red little eyes that hint a secret of a mystery of a forgotten memory.
Little girl secrets kept between red little girl lips.
Lips that hint of a smile of a promise of a secret that was whispered to the butterflies.
Butterflies that flutter and sing of promises in the native song or flowers.
Red little poppies for remembering.Little red roses for promises kept and those broken and buried.
That is where my wings have been laid to rest.
The graveyard of dead promises and forgotten secrets.
And only the little red paper confetti girl knows the way.