We Are Bulletproof | 2

avatar cycle [anecdote]

avatar cycle

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Fire attaches to him like he is made out of cinder, feeds off every breath exhaling out of his lungs and clinging to the wooden edges of his soul. His hair is dusted with shredded smoke, covering him—from the tips of his fingers to his angry knuckles—with soot. He opens his mouth to flicker embers, tiny particles sprinkling over you and me, until we shine as bright as our stardust wishes.

Water whirlpools through the canals of her brain, her veins pumping without a beat, slipping over beyond her sight like an oasis you cannot touch. Her eyes steady the sinking waters pulling her ships from heading too far, anchoring herself from getting caught in the drift of her thoughts. She cries, like a country which has never seen a waterfall in their lifetime of drought, so that we are not empty.

Earth roots around his calves until he kneels on its surface, throwing a fit when he does not subside easily, breaking its beautiful self apart until he submits. He is smeared with dirt that will not scrub off, strong as the angel tree that braved more wars than history witnessed. His touch, blessed with the gentle caress of birth, allows you to grow and grow before you come back to him again.

Air whistles in her ears, resonating against the drums in a symphony of silence. Rushing winds let her fly without wings, witness as she is caught in the subsiding breeze of Spring in the belated autumn weather, watches her dance with gold painted feet across the black stitch she loved to carve out her skin from. And she dances inside your throat and spreads under your ribs, until you cannot live without her.

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