Am I then nothing but the foam on the water?
White, pure, shimmering yet easily melting.
One could offer me an open hand
Let me linger as long as I’d please
But if he would close his fingers I’d be far gone.
Would a non-existing heaven then look down on me
and tell me I’d been wrong?
That I should be a beacon and a shoulder firm and strong?
I am but the girl who twisted a pre-made fate.
White but not pure. Shimmering but shivering when alone.
Still I have a hand to linger on
But then why am I slowly slipping again.