I don't know how to word this. Though, it's easier to watch the words flow rather than clumsily slip off my tongue. I told you I would write you a book, or at least a chapter—and I will. I'll keep up on all the promises I so confidently dotted across your scrambled board, and trace a picture so worthy that it might display itself in my sky as an immeasurable constellation.
It'll be a constellation so bright, that like the big dipper will it lead you far. I'll lend you my wings, if you might, so if it meant you'll be able to fly far and high could you spin the ring of Saturn around your finger, bounce on the moon with an endless smile, and see the sun without the world going black would I clip my wings so quick.
You are worth every penny, Justina. And though those you give your cents to end up rusting your precious copper to the core, somehow you have change to spare. You're more than an empty chair. You are why the room's so bright, why the stars in my sky seem so much brighter than they used to.
Spring wouldn't seem so warm without you around. Every path you walk blooms with flowers so beautiful that the Earth seems to weep rivers in your tread, and the wind so breathless. The grass grows green with every breath you take, and every moment a word slips off your tongue do the birds sing so unforgettably to the rhythm of your heart.
You leapt from crumbling bridges, watching cityscapes turn to dust while filming helicopters crashing in the ocean from way above. You're an angel trying to look past the heavens, attempting to see the bitterness in the purity that cruelly masks the imperfections we incompetently shame. But you take those inept cracks in this creation and mold it into something that means everything, though you've been hiding them in hallowed out pianos left in the dark because of those who see the world in black and white.
Your pictures stained watercolors of your insecurities, only your works were meant for those who see things in color, whose world shines in watercolor as much as yours does. From the moonlight came the beauty I see within you, and your paintings.
Though you hate what's paralleled in mirror, just know I hope you only knew how pure your smile was, for it was something you'd only find on such an angel. If only you knew, the volumes of your library stood so empty, for not even Socrates could describe how ineffably flawless your being was for this cursed world, for such an angel as pure as you didn't deserve her feathers to insufferably fall off by the hands of those desperately trying to grapple what clouds they could no longer see due to their sinful selfishness.
Your words light up planets galore, for the things about you that I wish you saw unparalleled fit so perfectly in my glass eye that your beauty had forever stained my irises—an art I display proudly amongst those who might cherish the imperfections you turn into statues that dance with the stars you touch brighter.
You will always be good enough. Always. Though the daggers of those who hold their futures hanging on the past pierce your heart, it has never been you to wire their mistakes into a knotted string whose errors linger sparkless on their ineptitude. You are a world whose mountains are mined for gold, for the machines that brush past the beauty that was built for them can only find the purity within the jewels deep within their own plighted cerebration.
If it meant I have to sit on the ground with a scarred back, I would gladly watch you reach the starry void of night while watching the rain drip on blackened roses if it was for you to see winter roses once more. Even if your feathers were those I had plucked off my back, my smile would be worth the fullness of your soaring flight.
My universe sparks with joy endlessly, and despite the sorrowful nebulas that momentarily flash bleakness, you fill my sky with stars that drip with hope, whose dying breaths turn into an endless delight that scatters across the darkness of my dejecting void. You are the cosmos that expand my universe, who makes worlds I could enjoy forever until my singularity could implode.
In a time that seemed like my skies would rip black, you plucked planets from your own eyes and settled them within my palm. The rings of my Saturn, composed of the pieces of your frozen heart you picked shattered. My Juniper, whose dot runs warm with the breath of life you let glide on my cheek.
I watch you fly towards your inevitability, whose constellations I have dotted and traced on the board you had scribbled. With your hand in mine, we illustrated the nebula I happily watch swirl above me. You soar so effortlessly in the euphoria you crave, and I see my wings on someone who made my feathers look more white than I could've ever had it to be, and my halo more bright and pure than I could've worn it. The rain melts against my shoulders, but you have brought a warmness in these tears of the sky that make this wheel of the world less sorrowful than it spins itself to be.
•
...I don't like the fact I even wrote this and I apologize to my girlfriend because it's about J, but back then she was a better person and I had a crush on her so I was knee-deep in unchecked emotions and blurred reality.
