Fission
I want to stand in the sun. Let rays touch my face and cradle my heart, press their fingertips softly to the underside of my emotions. Standing through risks and exhaustion. Perhaps I want to wait until it falls gracefully to sleep and whisper all of my secrets to the moon, tell him how delicately you make my stomach flutter. How I am but a flower in your glow; trying to photosynthesize with the light that you’ll give me. And the hardest part is that even scientists have proven; one day the sun will burn out.
Time
Today I counted twilight on two hands; rather than two fingers, and the sun spilled out of her dress, drawing the gaze of even the most delicate of flowers. In Autumn, leaves dance like lovers across your sky-scape, and are admired even in their suicide. Finches make temporary homes, living like Gods on skeletal branches. Winter is lonely, but even snow-flakes build lives together. And I wonder if you hear all of that tender behind all this thunder. And spring is bountiful only in losing daylight and gaining rain-fall. Summer teaches us that life is a lost-and-found; and the sun is a treasure we ache for only to hide from. As the year progresses and clumsiness is over-run with confidence, we colonize new friendships and construct new futures; hoping for home.
If happiness is counted in birthday candles, we are on our way to brighter days.
Codeword
I can feel it; every goddamned last ounce of hope in my heart like a million fires, a million sky-lights, a million stars, burning tears into my eyes from the edge I stand on. I could leap from here and only soar; I could fall from mountains and find myself budgie’d to bridges. It is that pin-prick moment that you could live in forever yet long to leave the second you enter.
How long can this phenomena truly last? oh, that long. every needle-point plunging backwards into my stomach; my chest feels tight and I think my body rests actually on mountain-tip. I am fine; I am alright, I am alive. But I am also completely deadened to anything but night.
And never mind; I feel much worse.
Silence
I thought perhaps for the briefest second that the intermingling of our papers could have been something. That your placement beside me could have been something. That perhaps for five seconds your hand holding mine was actually something. That maybe I was not the only one who’s heart was having an attack; who’s head was reeling. But then I am just me, alone in a way which the pathetic cloak of loneliness does not fit. Empty in a way which happiness does not understand; and simple in a way which anyone who has even experienced any genre of unique could never equate.
I do not know exactly what it is, perhaps it is the feeling of premature hope being over-shadowed by sickening truths. And it’s just that I asked for the truth and all I got was a bent up version of it.
It is not even a puzzle, just a photograph with a sheet of clear fabric draped over the top. I am not an idiot. After all, I am “a smart girl”. Right?
Summer, defined
We try constantly to define summer. “summer is flip flops, tan skin and sunshine.”. “Summer is his hands, like sunburn down the skin of your arms.” “Summer is barbecues and loud music, dancing and being crazy and completely put together all at once.”
Defining summer is like attempting to hit a bulls-eye on a moving target. Summer isn’t held to a definition, perhaps it isn’t even a feeling. The letters of Summer could be rearranged to spell freedom. But even that is too concrete.
Freedom cannot be trimmed down to any simple definition. Freedom is no ties, no cares, no anything; but that is also what makes it an important part of everything.
The point is , Summer is what you make it, no one can change your definition. Summer is the bare bones of who we are, bare and lovely; but only if we let it.
There is a sweet, urgent summer waiting to be released in all of us.
Waiting to be set free.
Charismatic Hands
He had Charismatic hands and a summer-time heart. It was mid November when he orchestrated his abundance of goodbyes across my grassland heart. It was rainbow-like, an array of ache demonstrated in his passively scribbled arc. He had emboldened iris’ under the interpretation that his life was but a dust particle in an abandoned cellar. He pretended to be plain, lake water eyes that glistened like dew-dusted lilies, simple clothing and careless lips. He did not beg for your gaze, but merely pleaded for it with the language of his limbs. He longs for attention like babies for breast milk and I can pine for a boy, but I will only ever love a man.
He made home-spun love stories taste like sugar plum on my lips, but it is undeniably primitive to fall in love in circles and roundabouts. And besides, I haven’t got all day, and he always had a train expecting him. He was always escaping to the nearest outlet to purchase more tickets. Physical distance is around only to assure an obstacle, but mental miles are galleries of thought and light-years across.
It is mid-April now, and mid-November may have been a dream. The odd thing about being awake is the colors are the same; only the dreams are around solely to wake from.
“You can’t like the book if you won’t open it’s cover”
Define translucence
I can’t give in, but I love the dark. It is a bad crush, a foolish love. I have lost sleep meeting Orion and in shining dimples of your smallest cousin Little Dipper, after your favorite aunt. Your diamond eyes. In your supernova touch and the stardust you trace down the backs of my ankles. Seeing every particle where bright and light are ignorant to the way you spend hours connected to every last part of me all at once. And while I do not feel you, my vision is constantly doused with you, everything with shape lost beneath the black veil of your night.You are the only man I can see myself with, you are the only one who tells me to dream, you are a constant. And while loving you truly, I will only ever be able to look through you.
Orange
I still dream of growing my hair longer; redder; eyes like the sunset over Georgia and a heart like the birds soaring on my shoulder. I want freedom the way lungs crave air; the way a girl craves a boy; the way this Earth craves it’s moon. I admire those who have been rescued; who are renewed to a world which can never hold them back. I will lose what binds me; blaze from this city; follow road map upon road map until all I have left is sunlight to chase. I want to be free; be air borne; maps upon maps drawn onto my skin and city upon city burning bright in my eyes. I will be every misunderstood outline; tied down only to spontaneous detail and sin-stained coffee cups. I will chase freedom until freedom turns her back, and follows me.
I still dream of a freedom that breathes like fire. I will not leave this world as another girl, forgotten. I just want you.
Aspects Of A Man
I think there are some very important aspects of a man which should not be forgotten. I think I want someone who will not always agree with me; not someone who will falter to my subtle opinions; but someone who will add to them or tear them down. Someone who will teach me something in every conversation without even fully realizing it. Someone who makes me laugh, who makes me happy inside; like my heart is jumping with those glowing jelly-bean shaped bugs. I think I want someone who tells me stories; who is confident and insecure all wrapped into one. I think I want what I have never touched; what I rarely see, and what I always feel.
That is not ideal, not for me. The ones who want me always falter; always drop away if they’re right; stick around if they’re wrong. Then there’s you, and sometimes my head doesn’t know which you are; despite my heart’s constant singing.
Ideally, I think I want someone who is silently obsessed with me. Not with how many times I brush my teeth or how often I breathe, or blink. but with the way the wind toys with my hair; and how many times I smile at each joke he tells me. Someone who loses himself sideways in the golden green of my eyes. Someone who’s heartbeat keeps time with the drum of my fingers on the dash. someone who watches my mouth as often as my eyes; who knows all of my triggers; all of my give-a-ways.
Ideally, I think I want to be alone forever; because merely getting close to having anyone; or anything has only caused me pain.
But then, Ideally, I think I want to be with you forever, with someone forever; because merely getting close to having anyone or anything truly real is the highest my heart has ever soared.
