It's strange how nothing is exactly the same in our world, but all the building blocks of existence are identical.
Magic died when I was 9 years old and stared at the empty fireplace. All the flame I saw inside myself couldn't wield a material spark.
All of the cracks and empty slivers in my house could melt into a great nothingness if she told them to.
I can't separate smoke and fog in the dark. The city could be dying or settling in for sleep.
I will never see pure light, and I will never dissolve the way I was made to. Don't leave when you evanesce.
There are beads of glass tangled in your hair. They look so beautiful; stop shaking your head.