When igneous and sedimentary rocks are subjected to tremendous heat or pressure, they get transformed into metamorphic rocks. Isn't it the same way that failures and struggles help us transform into better versions of ourselves? Today's challenge revolves around such transformations.
--Today, write a creative piece about transformation.--
Your bare skin brushes mine and a trail of blazing fire , races down my spine . We look at each other and the edges of the world turn soft , shadows blurring in grey patches . A song ends and you shove your hands in my hair , and bring me to you like you need it for survival . We devour each other , trying to blend in together , sucking the life source right out until I can't decide where you end and I start , our existences merge together like two starkly different colours on a pallet .
I am a mixture of all the people who left me , I'm a product of insecurities . I've yet to learn how not to paint myself in the colours of every person I've ever loved . My apartment smells of coffee and books , and I am just another inanimate object waiting for the life to drip out of me through rough poetries . Rain thunders on my window and I pick up pieces of my scorched love and make bracelets out of them , in hopes to pull out a whole string from the tangles on my wrists .
Lately I've been reading the gloomy tales of poets who held tragedies in their lives and had the privilege to end it themselves . Would I ever be one of them ? Maybe I am not a poet , maybe I'm a torn , stepped upon squeezed heart , pulled out of a still warm body trying to put into letters and words and phrases what it was like to be surrounded with your smell , what it was like to slip out of your knuckles when you held too tight , what it was like to paint stars on your back ?
Someday , I'll learn how to keep myself tinged with a single shade . Someday .