THE WHITE ROSE PAINTED WITH BLOOD

xxviii - she drew anything she could see

| poetry and prose |

saccharine voids folded 
around his ears
and in a split second
entire universes were founded
in the crevices and spaces
between his conscience and mind

​​// music //

every breath he took
hid a battle in its strands

// drowning //

the music came from
a few floors below
each note blurred as if
it were played in slow motion
they calmed him
he closed his eyes
the sky wide and blue
like an ocean above him

// a flight of stairs to freedom //

today was one of those days
when all the numbness was gone
and the anxiousness came down on him
like 32-floored buildings
making his knees give away
internally

// he was a flower in the
desert, a desert that rained
once a year so that his petals
were either scorched or his
roots rotting in the ground
beneath from too much
water//

on these days
he went to the closest roof he could find

-[ 🌙 ]-

my chest is already hurting from the thought of being on the top of a 55-foot building. 

i close my eyes as a patch of blue appears above me, growing larger and larger as something other than my mind tells the muscles and bones in my body to keep climbing till the last step.

then i see you.

i wasn't expecting to see you.

your eyes linger over the city view below, over the schoolyard where this building stood like a mountain, over the splashes of rusted orange and gold that stretched for miles and miles until it reached the place where the world gave away, over gray streets weighed down by the air and gravity of autumn.

there is a sketchpad in your lap, your fingers clenched around a pencil of wood and the graphite that made the streets below yet creating masterpieces where new worlds meet this one between the lines.

you look up abruptly even though i haven't made a sound.

we stare for a moment, both startled to find the other.

i clear my throat.

"didn't expect to find you here," 

my voice is smooth while my bones and blood cells scream internally.

i'm dying.

you smile, slightly, your lips forming into a perfect curve, like the arch of a rainbow or like the curvature of the earth seen from the perspective of a plane window. the freckles on your cheeks are like the stray clouds in the sky, floating absentmindedly over your face like the autumn leaves flying down to kiss the sidewalk. your eyes match the shade of your dark blue coat, so black that the blue is barely noticeable unless you stare for at least 5 seconds. a beige scarf hangs loosely around your shoulders.

you are the epitome of perfection.

"didn't expect you either."

you shrug. your scarf billows slightly along with the wind current. like wings.

my curiosity makes me stare at your sketchbook without trying to look out of the corner of my eye. i almost gasp at the accuracy and proportions of where and how the lines are drawn, matching the view over the edge of the roof as if you had traced the image below over an invisible piece of paper in the air.

"what are you drawing?" i stoop down and sit next to you on the cement floor. 

your hand doesn't pause in its position on the paper but you tilt your head slightly at the question. 

"i draw anything i can see," you looked at me sideways, your voice thoughtful, like velvet and cherry whine and a million violins struck at the same time to produce one melody.

i liked your answer.

i eye the sketches scrawled over the page. 

"you're really good," i say quietly.

more than good.

our eyes meet and you quickly averted your gaze. 

"umm... thanks," you mumble, your voice tinged with a sudden shyness.

"what other things do you draw?"

you glance at me once again.

"mhm... i guess... things i don't believe in anymore, and... the ocean,"

the answer trails of at the end as if a salt breeze had blurred and blown away the last syllables. there was a hollow darkness that weighed the words down, however casually you said it. 

you turn suddenly toward me, your eyes suddenly sparkling with excitement, laced with a slight twinge of uncertainty.

"do you remember when i say i'd show you the beach near my house?" 

i nod. an image of the ferris wheel flashed in my head.

"well..." you trail off, uncertainty pushing the words down your throat as if they suddenly met the edge of a cliff and tumbled into the ocean below.

"for the project, well you could come over next saturday and we could work on it, and i could show you afterward," 

the idea of it rushed through my veins and tugged at the edge of my lips upward.

we didn't need words. i just smiled, and you smiled too. and the message was conveyed.

-[ 🌙 ]-

together they listened
to the music that wafted
like an exotic aroma
from beneath

// music exists in all senses //

at this moment,
the world was just him,
her, and the music,
no fear, no 55-feet 
above the ground

// they were the only 
people in the world //

-[ 🌙 ]- 

QUESTION : is the opposite of happy sad or mad?