"I am not a graceful person. I am not a
Sunday morning or Friday sunset. I am a
Tuesday 2am, I am gunshots muffled by a
few city blocks, I am a broken window
during February. My bones crack on a
nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a
dull thud, and I apologize for my
awkward sadness. I sometimes believe
that I don’t belong around people, that I
belong to all the leap days that didn’t
happen. The way the light and darkness mix
under my skin has become a storm.
You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the
echoes."