July poetry 12 & 13
xii. the truth
you make me so
unbelievably
sad/happy
and you know it
&
i am tired of
every word i
write being about
you.
~
xiii. the distance between stars
but the pale blue dot feels so much bigger from down here, compiling life as it happens to save it for later, as if immortality were possible or pleasant. all the chapters in neat little shoeboxes living in dusty closet second-lives. it is hard to not feel alone. the kind of alone that blows through the windows at night, chilling the gauzy ghost curtains to flutter in fright, the kind that makes you dig your hands into the ground, fistfuls of grass. here is solidity. you sooth yourself into a deep sleep where you remember that the sky you see is my sky. my bones are made of the atoms of your breath. and the distance between stars is made of Nothing.
you make me so
unbelievably
sad/happy
and you know it
&
i am tired of
every word i
write being about
you.
~
xiii. the distance between stars
but the pale blue dot feels so much bigger from down here, compiling life as it happens to save it for later, as if immortality were possible or pleasant. all the chapters in neat little shoeboxes living in dusty closet second-lives. it is hard to not feel alone. the kind of alone that blows through the windows at night, chilling the gauzy ghost curtains to flutter in fright, the kind that makes you dig your hands into the ground, fistfuls of grass. here is solidity. you sooth yourself into a deep sleep where you remember that the sky you see is my sky. my bones are made of the atoms of your breath. and the distance between stars is made of Nothing.