Oh man in the moon, do you see her sorrow?
She sits alone under a sky bright with stars, looking up to find her purpose she lost so long ago. Your beams reflect back the glint of the tears she holds in her eyes, and the gentle glow of light caresses her cheek. The grass beneath her fingertips is beginning to moisten with dew, and the cold reminds her shes alive. In a night so quiet and so empty it is easy to get lost inside herself. The immensity of the darkness sinks into her soul like the ink of a pen seeps onto an empty page. Interesting that a girl could feel so alone as the wind plays with her hair and the flowers perfume tempts her closer.
“Stay with us,” they call.
Hot red starts to drip, drip, drip. Were you watching, man in the moon, did you see the moment she gave in? Living in this world was too hard, because her emotions were like the ocean. She drown in herself and no one could save her.
Like the prairie, she is beautiful.
Seasons of her life have made her bloom with colors so bright, you can’t help but be drawn like a magnet to her rugged landscape. Lush and overwhelming for such a short time, because something or someone made her feel more alive. Most, however, can’t take the heat that Indian summers can bring. Her intensity is like the sun that beats upon the hardy grassland until the heat turns them dry and the ground slowly cracks. Late summer rains only make the needy soil flood under the magnitude of the storm.
Just when the burning becomes too much to handle, the winds shift to bring in the cool and tempered breeze of fall. The calm, the beauty of the hay turning gold and the generated warmth of a jacket, made cozy by her gentle winds move you to fall in love again. A calm acceptance that life could be so content and a love could move so deep.
Winter is her drawing you deeper, looking inside yourself for the reason for this season–her test to see if you can handle the extremes of her world. One is calm, cheerful, and full of care when you are there in her arms. Should you find yourself on the wrong side of her passion, that bitter, blinding cold would drive you to madness to return to those arms. Or it might just drive you from her faster than you could look back. But look how she blooms again without you, silly one.
Nothing can keep her from being aglow with the vibrance of being alive and wild like the prairie.
I wanted to go home, to you, to that bed we never want to leave, today. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up or if I even should. Even you tell me this is bad. You can see the nightmare that comes next while I am still so caught up in the mirage. You tell me I glow when I see you.
I FUCKING GLOW.
What the hell? I am so angry! I am angry at myself for letting you in, for letting this get this far, for letting this be no different from every other time. I am angry at the way the world works. Here I am, fully ready to love someone, to make every day about making them smile, and it hands me a guy that has to walk away. Really? After you tell me you have feelings for me?
Don’t you know silly boy that saying frivolous things like that only makes my heart melt?
It is far easier to pretend like I am utterly un-phased when you are doing the same, so why you would break pattern and admit something like that is beyond what I can reason. Every single tender moment is like a knife to a heart I thought had mended. You are different and the same from every other man, but I woke up this morning knowing in my very toes that I could fall in love with you.
If you asked me, I would.
I am terrified two months is too long, yet too short to let you in and let you go in what will most likely be at the very same moment. Don’t ask me to go back; because, Honey, it’s a one way ride. Just be sure you understand that no matter how many times I bat my eyes and promise I can handle this, I will never stop wanting more with the full knowledge that it is entirely impossible.
Night slips over the day like a billowing sheet settles upon a crisp mattress. Little drops of the heavens sprinkle my tired face, and I breathe in the now wet earth. You lace your hand in mine and lead me away from the perfume of the rain to a room aglow with tiny flickers. A faint smile finds its way to my lips as you offer me a glass of sweet white wine because you remembered it was my favorite. You’re looking at me expectantly, maybe because I am honestly taken aback by this overt display of care and affection.
This is not what you wanted; you knew it’s what I needed.
With that sweet, spring breeze drifting across my naked back, the buzz of sugary wine on my lips, and the quiet electricity of your fingers across my skin; my lips seek yours like an unquenchable thirst and my hands daintily search you body for the desires awakened in my own. It has been so long since anyone has held me that way–I want these moments to drag into eternity.
Three more months of a a halfway not-quite-in-love tangle of sheets.
I told you I couldn’t stay. Then you touch me with such subtle, tender hands, I have no memory of those words that left my mouth so resolute just mere moments before. This night and the way our bodies are moving together as one are a part of those things I hope to remember as I rock slowly back and forth on a front porch swing with the night drifting ever so gently over the warmth of the day.
I woke up early this morning and watched you sleep with hazy, happy eyes. The steady rhythm of your breathing is keeping time as the birds greet the morning sun peeking her face through a frosty window.
–I could get used to this–
Your face is so soft in this moment, empty of worry or questions or expectation, you just lay there as free thoughts stumble through your mind. I can’t help but wonder if I am there too in ways similar to how you’ve infected my dreams. I sweep the hair from your forehead and kiss so tender it doesn’t wake you from those dreams.
I ache for your gentle hands to caress my cheeks the way they did the night my tears spilled over. Look at me the way you did with that longing for connection that goes deeper than how your body moves so well with mine.
You wake up with a sweet, small smile, and I whisper faintly, “Good morning,” when my heart is screaming to say so very much more. No, not having feelings was never going to work with a boy like you, were they, because here I am longing to be everything you could ever dream while you do, but I’ll just lay here and smile because this moment is magic.
I never knew it was possible to miss a place as much as I do tonight. The drawl of two ladies chatting away in the corner of this coffee shop tugs at my heart in a way I can’t even put into words, and before I know it tears are tumbling down eyes remembering an ocean scene on a stormy, summer day. I find myself crestfallen when my attempts of conversation at the checkout counter are met with uninterested, empty answers and the clicking of a lady’s heel behind me in impatience. Listing the things that make that place a home would be hollow, I’m afraid. So I’ll sit here sipping a latte as the snow falls outside the window and people rush about with their eyes on the ground–picturing that sweet, lazy summer breeze drifting across my bare legs as the sucrose and rich tea flood my mouth.
Preach to me not of the stars,
for they are the ones that dried my tears
after every boy before you,
and whispered sensational dreams
into a heart left empty.
They saw all the love in my eyes
just waiting to be given
and accepted it with a soft embrace.
Yes, boy–they are romantic.
They call down,
“Only I have loved you”
as we take this frigid walk under their light.
Preach to me not of the stars,
for they were there
when this little girl’s fragile heart was born
and they will be here
long after you stop holding this hand.