time was soft. choice was rigid. there were heights to climb. and windows to break. we fashioned our tools from what little materials catastrophe had left us.
it was mostly silence. sometimes screams. unfinished long division. and fierce intersections.
we'd spent our remaining pennies on wishes that would never come true. we threw off our gowns and let the grief stain our skin.
the fiction all too real as we danced in love's tattered shoes.
we couldn't know. nor would we ever want to.
how similar heaven is to hell.