She was sitting in her broken room. Filled up with all her memories and all the ashes she'd aquired.
She couldn't sell anything she owned and was trying harder than anything to cut loose.
She had a borrowed pack of cigarettes, which was wet now
She couldn't tell you if she was further forward or more backwards than ever before.
She had made a few promises in the recnt weeks and she found it harder to move on,
on to whatever was that those fairies meant, in her dreams..
Places where kids kick sand at eachother, but laugh instead.
Tonight she'll be working. Tomorrow will be the same.
She'll work herself into a fluster both nights, but fix herself up when she gets home.
Thinking of old injuries and maybe new hopes, never deep enough, she'll let the flicker experience emotion for her.
She'll sleep, experiencing pieces of genius and wonder in those dreams of hers.
When she wakes up she'll love those images, and they'll carry her.
they say these lives of ours aren't worth a dollar, but i'd like to think more.
those shoes you bought yesterday are nice, but that thing you said while you were falling was even nicer.
and i hope you continue to have such thoughts, you're worth a million... I'd say so.