WOLVES IN PEARLS
I breathe in. Hhhhh.
Gather my molecules, bit by bit, string them together, pearls on a necklace, beading human flesh.
Phhhhh.
I have always held this ridiculous fear that I could dissolve into air at any given moment.
I would get lighter and lighter and ever more translucent. My body, drunk with sleep, flowing in eternal sunshine. Maybe they could breathe me in. Maybe then, I could finally be whole. Sun and no shadow. Pearls rearranged. Home and not running. Finally not running. Lake-like. Not dripping, pouring, splashing, storming, overflowing. Neat and resting and beautiful. Broken homes don't make people like that. We're creatures, half-formed, half-finished, lurking, yearning, howling, running. Wolves, not pearls. Drawers don't fit us. The drawers never fit anything, that's why I don't even bother unpacking.
Maybe one day the drawers will be empty for me, and I can patter, bead by bead, drip drop by drop, into a place I'll never have to run from.
Sophia Münzer, 23, Berlin - Germany ✯
“Sophia is a 23-year-old psychology student mostly lost in the labyrinth of her imagination. Both aromantic and asexual, she finds solace in romanticising life and taming cats. In between psychoanalysing her journal entries and despairing about the human condition, she is an occasional writer, painter and admirer of art.”