goddessofevil

We were seventeen when we met. The first thing you said to me was "Open your eyes and see." You were a collection of skinned knees and your father's broken promises, holding onto your fears like miniature phantoms clinging to the bit of skin beneath your eyes, the indentations of muscle in your chest. You taught me how to make things beautiful. You taught me that every little pinprick, every pop of pain, every tiny little slit, cut, rip was God's design, and if he was a painter, you said I'd be the Mona Lisa. You said I was a work of art. You made big towering claims like your hopes for San Francisco, you piled me up like cities and sky