the sound of my emotions

m o s a i c s

She's almost lonely
But the word almost, has more meaning than time itself

Frolicking upon large gaps between the stars
Gazing at the fair moons that hug the planets ever so lovingly
Scrunching her nose at the silly sounds of Uranus
Singing along to the roar of the suns vicious flames like they're the latest pop song on the radio

no one else feels the heat of those flames as strong as her

outer space is a quiet place, full of mystery
She likes it here though
She compensates

She sits with her thoughts and lets the calm quiet darkness envelope them in warmth
because no one else's efforts of doing that can compare to hers

She knows she's almost lonely
she admires that about herself
She feels independent almost
Everyone needs to be able to do some things on their own at some point

She has a friendly persona, and she certainly smiles along during whipping, exhausting tornadoes that grasp at her chest from time to time

But she thinks deep down that the still small thrust of optimism she feels, in the midst of the dreary silence

The sound of the cheerful hum of the world surrounding her

Cherishing the soft whisper of her own voice that penetrates the dark moonlit nights
Are all that will genuinely comfort her storms

She feels that she doesn't need observation
examination or intoxication to be quite frank.

She feels fresh and new without these things
She almost thrives

She is gentle and harmless
While at the same time she is fierce and powerful

She tries to convince herself that these things amount to something

But the irony is that she bears a fragile glass heart despite the stubborn, driven mask she portrays on a daily note
Her heart clangs at the slightest rock, tap, or thud that happens to disturb it

Life itself overwhelms her like the strong waves of a raging hurricane

She shakes
The glass cracks
She breaks
She can't breathe because her chest is on fire
She's screaming on the inside while only visibly uttering a sigh

She might even want everything to halt. To stop. Or to end.
On certain occasions

Listen closely though
There's always that still small whisper of a friend

Almost alone

For a reason

Reminds her that she can
She is the sun, drying up those violent waves of terror that so often drive tough hurricanes

She is a war horse, typically trained in carrying all the weight
She pulls plows through life and pushes on and on, obliterating pebbles and stones that cross her path

And yet no matter what anyone else decides to pound or throttle against her shards of glass that once made a heart
She can believe in herself

And there's always glue
Mosaics are a work of art after all