Old freewriting. A bit girly but I thought it was nice.

The cracks in your eyes leak when you speak, fragile, pearly white pupils that bat back and forth like planets aligning for a final judgement. You speak so soft and eloquently but are so afraid, your body a divine temple, silky and unornamented except for the burdens that are carried upon it. The turret in which you were once sheltered is gone, lost with the sparkling winds that had carried it. You might miss the cozy warm blankets and frilly pillows in that bedroom but you are different now, you are lost in your own solidarity. If you are lucky maybe you'll escape the labyrinth, take the time to sniff the flowers and maybe your spirits will soar and your brain will fill with the same restless dopamine that lives inside the blossom. I hope this will happen, I hope I can fix your leaky porcelain eyes, but I am no man of any sort of trade and I do not mean to be. I am only a wisher. I can hope for miracles but I can only craft within the limits of my own aching bone and flesh. Love weeps, existence dawns.