(via jaggerjack)

His shadow smiles at the light of this girl, when the boy, the real boy, never really smiled from his vessel. As he walks off, shadows slip out of his pockets. They fall onto the grass, and tint the tips a deep purple. I stumble and find my feet, and chase. As I run past the purple grass, his shadow spells out I never loved…


I don’t need to chase anymore, I need to replace.

Magical, Jackson. Never stop writing.