My eyes sting like they are filled with gasoline.
My body rolls.
But I don’t want to go to sleep,
No- I don’t want this day to be over yet.
These hours mean so much to me.
Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket // James Whistler // 19th Century
You know she’s going to think that all of that praying got her to this point.
But maybe it did.
Maybe all of those people no matter how ironically placed, they were all just matter of those whispers she said to the sky.
Perhaps it was just in the right place at the right time,
She could have been astrologically lucky…
But what if the words she spoke fell into line because she truly believed in them?