If a mirror ever tries to tell you you’re still fifteen and furious, you’ve vowed that you’ll break it.
Your mother used to say you can’t keep treating everything like a game forever, and you took that as a challenge to never stop.
Swore to keep your tongue sharper than your teeth will ever turn, said that if anyone told you you’d look better with wings you’re going to cut theirs off.
You don’t want any half-life offered by a smile as bright as the assurance of coming snow, sweet as wine, and just as unfeeling.
All the flowers frost over as the season cools.
It’s not superstition that white petals always cling to your hair.
Just that something always seems to be dying.
Just that sometimes it happens because of you.
It’s always been pride that makes you keep your promises.
What else is there to aim for, if not a heart?
What if there isn’t one at all?