I’m smitten with keys and doors, notches and corners. Because everything is the same, isn’t it? Everything will turn into dust and I hate it, I hate knowing I will be forgotten, or worse, never acknowledged, and I feel like the snow is falling without any purpose but to fall. And I’m flying, I swear I am, I’m flying and scooping up clouds in my arms to stop the snow but I’m just me, and sometimes just me isn’t enough. There comes times when I want to scream bloody murder through the whole neighborhood at night because I know he’s here and there is a chance he might wake up and remember my voice. I’m being forgotten. He doesn’t know me anymore, can’t recall what I look like. It’s frightening, I can’t tell what I want and I don’t have a choice, really. When he finds himself in a ocean of my tears, he won’t hesitate to swim out.
he steps in sync with me and i look in down at my feet contempt as i stumble to uncoordinate myself with him. try if you must, darling, but pray tell where were you five minutes after you came and finished off with me a fortnight ago? i should not have expected; tired, inexperienced hands stroked my breast playfully and i cringed and delighted in the action. forgive me, i could not help but compare the both of you; both so new at these adult things you lust for, he willing to go slow but all you wanted me to do was teach you and all i wanted was maybe someone who understood.
he took me and left
took me and left
i gave him the option
me
or
her
he took me and left
no, not the me
i wrestle with at night
not the me
i find huddled in the corner
he took the me
that coquettishly flutters at him
and he left me
as he ran after her
his hair like dirt, his face ashy when he is not blushing, he says he wants to band his arm and i think he would be perfect as a tree. we do not go hand in hand like lovers, but rather our sleeves brushing and the threads of out clothes fraying out as if trying to reach each other. he speaks to me incoherently, like he is pulling his voice out of a box for the first time. he could be a bird, i think. i think of vultures for his structure, blue jays for his mind.
i look out the window and i wonder what would happen if i smeared raindrops across your freckles, if i could bubble them up and ship them to the stars and tell them there is a beautiful boy with a beautiful name who belongs with them, and here is proof.
his lips feel glassy under my numb fingers and when i stiffly bend my pointer finger along his jawline there’s an itch in my palm to pull from him, to touch my own cheek and be reassured that he hasn’t stolen me away.
when he sighs my hearts sighs too, in longing for his lulling breath to escape into me and alleviate the cracked pieces inside. i cannot feel safe with him, i have to look over my shoulder every once in a while or check to see that i am not tripping on roots. he never says what he really thinks of me, chokes back when he tries to tell me how he feels about me. he is the crackling fire when i want him to be a candle flame.
we ran side by side. “tell me when you see it,” he said in between his slight gasping. then we were not running anymore but laying next to the other’s body in that treehouse in which our heights (well, his) could smugly fit and he was barely touching me, barely colliding with each other even though we both wanted to be shooting stars that hit with a cosmic boom; i could feel him aching to do so.
i could have played our song and it would have fit perfectly — but i was going to fumble with my hands and i was afraid of letting him see me tremble. if i lay here.. if i just lay here..
as i looked up at him the breath escaped my lungs — my insides tightened up like ice. i wanted to cry out “you are so beautiful” and when he leaned down toward me i felt my heart crack and stop as frigid as the air. i was so so cold and he was the only thing that could warm me up. i placed my hand over his chest and felt his sudden rapid heartbeat. we both smiled and whispered to each other.
he wanted to kiss me, his eyes flitted to my lips every other second and there was a deep hunger as he pulled me toward him. but how could i kiss a boy who made himself my home?
his eyes remind me of the veins on his hand, his blood vessels protruding out from his white skin. his body reminds me of his body, my body reminds me of his. every little corner I see on mine corresponds to his and my hands want to wander and see how close it is our bodies look alike but different.
he and i sit down and as he crosses his arms over his wobbly knees words pass through his lovely lips and into my outstretched ear. he tells me about himself, about his family, about everything, really, that is on his mind. i stay quiet, only to prompt him when he needs it, but i think he forgot that i have heard it all before, he has told me the same things not too long ago. i know that he has said all of it to other girls, too, and i feel oddly like a deflated balloon stuck in a tree. on his arm he bears no watch but a simple string bracelet and i find myself wish i could strap myself on him like that. i ask him how a long a moment was and he answers, “a second, or a minute, or an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year, a century, a millennium…” and i then asked him if i left right now and said i would be back in a moment, how long would he expect me to be gone? and he said, “i would not bet on you coming back.”
can I make constellations out of your freckles, can my finger be the telescope and trace the path of the stars in your face? we both grew quiet today and it alarmed the body hairs on my arms. or maybe the air wanted to freeze up all our words and our laughter so we were left with sullen silence on my part and heavy daydreaming on yours.
i am afraid of someone
whispering your name
and stealing it away from me
