you need to have some gypsy in you
some flight and a pair of wings
they hurt when they're sprouting
just like any transformation
a death in order to really begin
.it hurts.
just like that hr and 17minute phone conversation
with an old lover who can only say
"you haven't changed at all"
when you've changed so much he can't even notice
.it hurts.
when he threw out hundreds of handwritten love letters
"there wasn't enough space"
and you know there's a permanent space in his heart
or at least you hope. there better be
.it hurts.
when your new lover looks at you with wonder
believing that you are his little sprite his little fairy
the cocoon to his beginning
when your not sure if this beginning ever began
despite the hurt
somehow
the wings still sprout
something begins and something dies. all is one.
