Remember that day? You and I. We breathed the stars, out from our limbs and into the tips of the pine trees. Your eyes glowed with something I couldn’t touch, something out of my grasp. It burned my fingers, and it scorched my tongue.
When the ash fell from the sky, and your eyes darkened, I sighed. Isn’t this the way it goes? Something burns and burns, and it burns until you can hardly hold it in your head anymore. The way you looked at me made me burn inside; and it scared the thoughts out of my head. It set the wind and the moon ablaze, until all that remained was a desolate stretch of nothing. An emptiness that I knew well, an emptiness that stayed; and poured itself out into my eyes and glowed and glowed with the raindrops.
Now I see the way you smile, the tentative corners and the upturned rivers that stretch for miles; and I long to explore. Inside my heart is tugging at the barrier between my hands and my heart; the wall of distance that dams the flow of blood. I think and think. I reason. I feel, and then turn the light off. I close my eyes, and shut the blinds. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I will walk, and eat, and dream beautiful dreams and think beautiful things. But not today, never today.