There's beauty in the butterfly
But also in the moth
There's beauty in the sinner before and after he got lost
There's beauty in the traitor if freedom's on the line
There's beauty in the outcast if beauty saves your life
And I keep on moving
Batman smooths my bangs back and takes my whiskey, putting it on the side table while pulling me in closer on his lap. He hugs me against his chest and I feel a deep sigh from his as he exhales into my hair.
Your hair has gotten so long.
You saw me a week ago.
Touching it. I like it.
All millionaires have the same moves. The same abject comments on appearances, which isn't warranted or welcomed but they do it anyway as if their mere approval is influence. I secretly vow never to cut it again.
(Oh I'm KIDDING. Christ. They all have varying opinions on my hair. If I want it long I grow it out. If I decide I can't stand it for another minute, I chop it all off. It's just hair.)
It's been more than a week, Bridget. His hands loop around my hips. He seems so content and I reach over for my drink and bring it back so there's at least something between us other than my dress and his shirt and pants.
It's been more than a year. He continues as he picks up his own glass and empties it into his face decisively, as if he has been dared.
You have quotas?
Oh, it was a flip comment and there goes the glass, sailing through the air in slow motion, exploding against the doorframe in a shower of stars.
Turn off the music.
I bit my lip and leave his arms to do as he asks. I guess I hit a nerve and my spirit animal told him everything he needed to know tonight.
*(If you need a refresher, my spirit animal is Matthew Good and he put out a brand new album that is likely the most beautiful one of all.)
Your hair has gotten so long.
You saw me a week ago.
Touching it. I like it.
All millionaires have the same moves. The same abject comments on appearances, which isn't warranted or welcomed but they do it anyway as if their mere approval is influence. I secretly vow never to cut it again.
(Oh I'm KIDDING. Christ. They all have varying opinions on my hair. If I want it long I grow it out. If I decide I can't stand it for another minute, I chop it all off. It's just hair.)
It's been more than a week, Bridget. His hands loop around my hips. He seems so content and I reach over for my drink and bring it back so there's at least something between us other than my dress and his shirt and pants.
It's been more than a year. He continues as he picks up his own glass and empties it into his face decisively, as if he has been dared.
You have quotas?
Oh, it was a flip comment and there goes the glass, sailing through the air in slow motion, exploding against the doorframe in a shower of stars.
Turn off the music.
I bit my lip and leave his arms to do as he asks. I guess I hit a nerve and my spirit animal told him everything he needed to know tonight.
There's beauty in the knowing and in the wishing that you could
Like magic ain't a miracle
Just your cards misunderstood
Well there's beauty in our doing
Though diminished in our name
The same beauty in a snowfall is also in a flame
There's beauty in creation as there's beauty in its loss
There's beauty in the sinner before and after he got lost
And I keep on moving
*(If you need a refresher, my spirit animal is Matthew Good and he put out a brand new album that is likely the most beautiful one of all.)