Let me tell you about a girl who worried far too much. To her, the world was made of paper, and she was cobalt chrome; afraid that one day she will be buried deep — the pages covering her like the lid of a coffin. She drowned in air more times than she can count. And every day, her heart would explode, sending shrapnel ripping through her body. She was too heavy for her world. But what she was carrying, no one knew.
Then watch her fall in love.
Watch her world turn into a luminous medley of colours. See her paper world become the earth so that no amount of pressure could ever swallow cobalt chrome. There is a change, slow at first (a drizzle making herself known) and then all at once (a thunderstorm). Put your hand on her chest and feel it beat, arrhythmic and loud. They say it’s a murmur, but listen closely — no, closer — do you hear that? As the murmur turns into a whisper, you’ll hear his name in every pulse. Da-dum, da-dum, da—.
Now the only paper in her world are the ones under her wrist, stained with ink and mismatched words.