Sending postcards from a plane crash

Oh, how I wish you wouldn't worry so. There's hope in every breath. But when fear infects the bones, I'm told, the heart is always next.

[via pleasefindthis]

the bus slows as it crests the hill. we coast all the way down into the city. smudging the tips of our noses against the glass, we can see thunderheads rolling in over the tops of the skyscrapers, wisping through power lines. we want to stick our fingers outside to catch the static cling, but the bus windows are fused shut, containing us.

rolling into the city is like ducking into a new world where the sky is gray, not blue, and the power lines are at loose ends, throwing sparks all over the city. "we'll get electrocuted," you say, spreading your fingers out against the window. your hand looks like a glowing thing, an alien thing, and the lightning flashes are electric wires spiraling out of your fingertips. "electrified," you say.

i put my fingers
in the spaces between your fingers because
it's easier to touch that way.