From a Boy to His Best Friend

From a Boy to His Best Friend, pt. II

I've decided to make this into a series. Any time I write a FitzSimmons poem from Fitz's point of view, it will probably be posted here. There's no telling when I'll be posting more, or even if I'm going to, so I'll keep saying this is a "finished" project.

——This is heavily inspired by the Undelivered Notes by theradiointukyshead on tumblr. Check them out.

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Staring up at the dark sky, thinking of all its wonders. Past the clouds and satellites there are things unseen. Nebulas and suns and forgotten moons endlessly turning. There is a light that reaches through centuries; infinity. 

But I can't make out any of it. 

You are printed on the backs of my eyes. When I blink I see not the dark but a face with an apprehensive smile surrounded by hair that used to fall straight. Your skin is made of those stars.

Those months were a stepping stone. They were a valley we had to sink into in order to crawl our way back up. Now we are so close. You are watching me from behind those stars and all I have to do is reach out. But the image of you dissolves back into the universe from whence it came and I am reminded of the miles that still exist between you and me. 

I stand apart from the others who are speaking with the enemy. Their words are quiet enough to ignore but his presence is a pulsing in my mind, reminding me of gravity and the crash of metal against water. Thoughts of you keep me in place; distract me from the rage that wants to break free and make a fool of me. I am not as good as you. I want to be.

So my mind turns over our last goodbye. We may meet again tomorrow or a week from now. The wait is too long, I need it this second. 

I do not fantasize that are you looking at these same stars right now, that we are connected across space through a shared action. Statistics say that it is unlikely. You are under the ground, probably sleeping soundly. I don't need you to be star-gazing at the same time as me to know I'm in your heart. At some point during the day you will pause to think of me and that is all I need.

Think of me once and it will be one star in your blackened sky. One beautiful star is all I need.

But my sky is full of those distant suns. Each one is a whisper of your name, a passing question, an instant of longing. Each one is a memory of late night conversations, of sitting back to back with nothing but an inch of glass between us, of glances that last a second too long. Soon the sky will be filled up with those stars. They will drown out the night.

And not even the moon or the sun will survive.