(no subject)
love,
i wrote a fair amount about you while you were unaware, lost in space over the ocean. this is my gift to you: a compilation of words i never whispered.
I.
& you are like a sigh, caged behind a silence, catching under heels & through dry & dirty leaves, autumn on your mouth & river rocks in your shoes. tick-tock & a low whistle running through, trapping footsteps & creaking doors; breathing through the chill & whispers. love, you say, & i am reticent, caught into this song.
II.
you, you're there- far too many miles away. countries away. i think about you, now that i can, and definitions for you [who you are to me. what you mean to me.] catch on bars & strings. i can't explain you, not to myself, not to anyone. but if i could, i would define you in terms of myself: distance, time, rationality, sensitivity to light, sound, air, beats to a measure, literacy, strong fingers from years of gracenotes.
what you mean to me defies this place i've put you in. you, you are something foreign, something so lovely and startling [sound & air] that i am captivated by even your silences. you are something beautiful that happened to me while i was unaware, asleep, lost in an enchantment far worse.
III.
the sun set a long time ago, but we're both still awake.
you ask me, "do you think we should go to sleep?"
i say, "the sun hasn't risen yet. the night isn't over."
you teach me how to flick bottle caps.
i teach you how to fold origami.
4 am and the sky is lightening.
"the sun's coming up. we're not going to sleep, are we."
"no. because that is the worst way to end a silence."
6 am and we stand on the edge of the lake.
"can you skip rocks?"
"will you push me under? i want to be part of the reflection."
"no. the grass is still wet. and i haven't found all of the snail shells underfoot. and you don't reflect."
"you owe me coffee, the next time i see you."
"alright."
"you'll never see me again. i don't exist."
"i know you'll flicker back some day."
"i'm sorry."
IV.
i remember nights i wouldn't sleep, "what if" ringing through my skull.
it's like a balancing act,
a trapeze swing,
a kiss on the verge of tears,
your eyes and mine, morpheus, your eyes and mine.
the night may only hold silence and ice, but we see far more than that. we see the possibilities that never were, that could have been, might have been, should have been. i run scenarios through and through.
i leave consciousness and hover in solitude, static, staying or leaving, sleep. it is enough for now that i eventually remedied what i broke. i am only perfect locked within shooting stars.
[i miss you. i miss you. i love you.]
i wrote a fair amount about you while you were unaware, lost in space over the ocean. this is my gift to you: a compilation of words i never whispered.
I.
& you are like a sigh, caged behind a silence, catching under heels & through dry & dirty leaves, autumn on your mouth & river rocks in your shoes. tick-tock & a low whistle running through, trapping footsteps & creaking doors; breathing through the chill & whispers. love, you say, & i am reticent, caught into this song.
II.
you, you're there- far too many miles away. countries away. i think about you, now that i can, and definitions for you [who you are to me. what you mean to me.] catch on bars & strings. i can't explain you, not to myself, not to anyone. but if i could, i would define you in terms of myself: distance, time, rationality, sensitivity to light, sound, air, beats to a measure, literacy, strong fingers from years of gracenotes.
what you mean to me defies this place i've put you in. you, you are something foreign, something so lovely and startling [sound & air] that i am captivated by even your silences. you are something beautiful that happened to me while i was unaware, asleep, lost in an enchantment far worse.
III.
the sun set a long time ago, but we're both still awake.
you ask me, "do you think we should go to sleep?"
i say, "the sun hasn't risen yet. the night isn't over."
you teach me how to flick bottle caps.
i teach you how to fold origami.
4 am and the sky is lightening.
"the sun's coming up. we're not going to sleep, are we."
"no. because that is the worst way to end a silence."
6 am and we stand on the edge of the lake.
"can you skip rocks?"
"will you push me under? i want to be part of the reflection."
"no. the grass is still wet. and i haven't found all of the snail shells underfoot. and you don't reflect."
"you owe me coffee, the next time i see you."
"alright."
"you'll never see me again. i don't exist."
"i know you'll flicker back some day."
"i'm sorry."
IV.
i remember nights i wouldn't sleep, "what if" ringing through my skull.
it's like a balancing act,
a trapeze swing,
a kiss on the verge of tears,
your eyes and mine, morpheus, your eyes and mine.
the night may only hold silence and ice, but we see far more than that. we see the possibilities that never were, that could have been, might have been, should have been. i run scenarios through and through.
i leave consciousness and hover in solitude, static, staying or leaving, sleep. it is enough for now that i eventually remedied what i broke. i am only perfect locked within shooting stars.
[i miss you. i miss you. i love you.]