On this evening...

The wind is blowing up in the Capital, this evening the line between worry and reality is a slivery string of smoke. Crossed.

I don't want to to dwell in case I stir things up.
But I need to write this.
There is not much physical force in me but right now I wish there were, I wish I was taller, stronger, and able to split myself.

Like in my favourite story about the Hindu god Krishna who clones himself and loves some many women in one night that the world trembles and opens up.
I wish I could be anywhere were all of you are, and whenever winds blew up and Death draws near, for they are Death's little soldiers, and fear is what drives them, then I wish I would stand behind them.
Gently place my hands on their shoulders and whisper into their ears what their deepest longing was, all of their most intimate secrets...I would tell them I knew, just what they were after, and they would crumble and cry and my nails would bury themselves deep into the smooth adolescent skin on their necks. And I would pick them up and place them elsewhere. Where they could do no harm.

I don't have any force but I have words. They beat in my veins and the flow threw my fingertips. They are not as powerful as I would hope tonight. They are no nails or grips around cocky necks, but they are all I have for you and here they are. They are made up with all my love for you, all my deepest gratitude for all that you have taught me since I have known you, and they are blazing with anger and fury, the kind of fury that makes me want to grow tall and wide.

(This is a text called "Skinnygirl the return"- it's all I every want to be for any of you when thing like this happens, this evening it is slightly altered...)


We were one and one. Separated.
I waited to hear cautious whispers before the attack.
When together we would become a body, a longing, a strength.
When we would roam the streets and eat everything that had eaten us. Crushing those hands, that touched us without permission underneath our heels. Together we would hold hands. And the world would tremble, cause the world would know that there were fires underneath our skin. That it crackled and popped with faith and strenght. And the world would know that that fire would touch ground soon, spread through dry grass. The earth would be forced to reveal the words that were spilled. Tremble in fear.
For we will return, and we will regin. Look at us twice, cause it might be the las time you see us.