(no subject)
We ripped a hole in it last night. You gunned the plane and we twisted through.
“This is where snow forms,” you said; your hands tight around the wheel.
Our passage left a gaping space, ice forming at the edges.
Later we landed in a blue field. You took a handful of dirt and smelt it, then opened your hand and let it drift to the ground. I looked to the white.
That night the wind blew and the clouds boiled but the holes our plane had made lingered on, caught in emptiness, refusing to close. It was as though we had killed, mid-flight.
Today you wanted to ride again. You looked at me and held out your hand and I don’t know why but I took it in mine and climbed into the plane. You always wanted to be so mighty. We ascended and I froze; thinking about the holes you’d tear, whether they would stay open as well. It was such a game to you. We tore and tore and every time I’d close my eyes and feel the crystals we were stealing bristle through my veins.
Now we coast over silent lakes and distant towns. We tear and tear and if we do this enough maybe the sky will become filled with nothing but holes, an open gallery for the space beyond. I crane me head when we turn, trying to see which splinters of me have been left in the hollows. There, a whisper, beyond that, a feeling. Here, a sight I used to dream. I wonder if this is taking anything from you at all.
When we land I’ll listen to the creak of your leather as you peel it away. I’ll look to the ruined sky but you’ll be laughing and studying a map, already charting our next course.
I do not know if I will smile or frown but I know that if you ask me again, if you hold out your hand and wink, I will go up and whenever we rip the clouds I will rub my hands and look behind, hoping to see shreds of you with me, kissing the frozen moments, dawning in snow. Maybe I will cry, knowing that for all my wishing you will leave me behind and streak ahead to break apart another sky.
I know that when we land I’ll catch a cab, a train or maybe just a dusty path. Anything to not have to touch the heavens, to be reminded of the emptiness that we can make.
Nights later I’ll glance up and pause, seeing myself hanging in the spaces that we ripped apart, bleeding through, riding the dark clean.