FLAWED MOTION (a writing collection)

army green

I've spent so much time in your gardens.

Midnight, moonlight spilling into dew-coated grass as you thread your fingers into my hair, the cold seeping into my bare legs. There's a swing set behind us but we've jumped off it-up up and away.

It's sunset. The sky is a kaleidoscope of magentas and saffrons, your smile, so bittersweet, your legs are dangling off the railing.

Dusk. I need you. Hold me, be here. Don't leave. I love you so much.

High noon and the sun is blinding, brighter than me and you combined. Can you move a bit to the side? Cover up the sun for me, will you? Anything for you, my love.    

Are you seeing the sunrise? You're 13000 miles away.

Dawn. I give up. Goodbye, I'm going to sleep. I just wish you noticed.

The thoughts always come rushing in at 4 am, when the stars are twinkling and the city lights are blinding, but not as blinding as your smile.

The clock strikes 12. I don't know how to say goodbye. (I don't want to make you hurt even more.)

I've spent so much time in your gardens.

Show me the exits. Show me the doorway tangled up in vines that you grew from your pity. The clock strikes 12, we're going back in time. Midnight. Dusk. Sunrise. Dawn. Back to all those 4 ams spent washing away the tears of tender paranoia and adrenaline sorrow, the restlessness, the horrid smell of self-depreciation.

I've spent too much time in your gardens.