- there are many theories as to how we came to be
- (i’m not sure which one i believe).
- did we appear as dually flickering lights
- above a hazy skyline?
- fluttering, distant,
- choking on stifling fog:
- first solitary decades of life
- as a lukewarm utterance into the vacuum,
- whispering, “oh, what is this emptiness?”
- haggard gesturing suggesting
- half is not missing, but whole
- and someday, when beacons collide,
- not coincidence, but prophecy,
- wrenching claims of meant-to-be
- the sparks erupt in ultraviolet chaos,
- volcanic, raging,
- a mighty wallop of colour and sound,
- a shattering cry of belonging
- splitting time itself.
- i don’t think so.
- i don’t think i was born to love anyone
- except myself, and even that,
- some days, i’m not sure is true.
- i don’t think our initials are carved
- into anything immortal,
- let alone battered into the very cosmos;
- the air didn't lock into place upon our arrival,
- awaiting the moment our silhouettes
- would one day fill the empty space.
- i could fall in love with a melody,
- let crawl through my body
- (or a train ride, or alabaster sheets;
- there are chemicals that do these things to me),
- i could grow fond of many things
- but how particular my fondness of you
- how fervent, how violent, how gentle
- i think we're just moths
- riding on the backs of giants
- and i wasn't drawn to you
- because our wings are both blue
- but because they're the same colour
- as everyone else’s
- and you were willing to listen to
- why that scared me
- we’re not star-crossed
- but we can still wrap ourselves in the seams
- of a quilted universe that we did not stitch;
- bathe in the glow of a sun
- that does not shine for us;
- run atop an earth that
- does not feel our hurried footsteps
- as they thump,
- thump
- thump
- how lucky we are
- to have nothing expected of us.
- quickly—all the time we will ever know
- is tapping her toes on the doorstep
- and i do not want to keep her waiting
oct 25 2016 ∞
oct 7 2019 +
oct 7 2019 +