smokerings

[ founding eveneverland. ]

three bright orange oranges, tossed up into the sky, into the air, we laugh, the universe split and the sun was created in that moment, and the clouds rushed to cover it up, to dim its brilliance. paper planes soared through the sky, we went flying that winter, wingtip to wingtip, drinking the ocean, crushing sand beneath our toes. we danced like we dreamt like we slept and we said goodbye, everytime we say goodbye again and again i keep forgetting but one day i fear that is all i will remember. this feels hideous as the world looks on, these are things we all stopped believing in, that we threw away, that we fear, loathe, hate. and here i am, an outcast of an age, the girl who never grew up (or who grew old, died, and was born again, because of someone she knew) and here i am, celebrating things that dont exist, because either i lied before or i am lying now when i say there is no such thing, no such thing (if you believe in fairies, clap your hands or the last one will die) and i am telling you that there is.

and there is this giddy silence, this hideous, beautiful moment when we were poised at the place where two mountains met and there were rocks and sand between and a sheer drop to the roaring river below and our heads spun, dizzy with fear and then there was that moment (we felt) this manic grin split our face, grit our teeth, laugh at the sky and let our feet run across showering loose earth in our wake. it doesnt matter. at that point, nothing does. i'd rather dieonmyfeet than liveonmyknees.

the evenings are beautiful, these days, brightly pink because of the heat and the smog. karachi is so much to look forward to. tiny trill-prickles jump under my skin at the sparks that bristle at the very fingertips of pylons, sparkling gold against the neon night sky. i love the rush you feel when you stand on a roof and the city just sprawls to all sides of you, and you can feel it pulsing as if were connected to you, physically, organically, that if you flex your fingers half of the lights in KDA will glow brighter and dim, that the sound of motorcycles at 3 am is just resonating to your own tired restlessness. i love waking up, even. the air in the morning (7 am) feels like your skin (goldenbrown, texturelikesun). i've woken up at 7 for as long as i can remember, even if i do go back to sleep. wake up, eyes stare blearily at the clock, mind slightly confused, skin smiles in happy reassurance (he's there. good.) and we go back to sleep.

..it's never been this way before. stones don't make cities. people do.