kitfairyqueer

she dances with the wind, not understanding any of my cares, and yet - she cares for all of them. I tell her "I deserve better than this old abyss again and again." and I am tired enough for an entire forest, but old pine, mother of wings, stands still and nurtures many things (me being the smallest of them, only a whisper of a girl), and in whispers I learn how to nurture something not fire or dark, something like roots or strong rainstorms or the slow patience, the unafraid confidence that lets her stand tall and be touched by nothing but wind and sunshine and all the good things, none of them human, none of them harm. one day, I will st