A rain-kissed stillness. Tender hearts collecting memories of a river. I brush by in ease, leaving you with a feathery hope in the breeze. So do you, but with footprints burning in my soul. Footprints of goodbye? No. Footprints of a silhouette stay? Yes.
“I wrote you a poem, darling.”
Hah, you could never find a home in my backdrop-words.
And so I continue to beat my heart without rhythm. And so I continue to appear in the tiniest corner of your heart. Sometimes my heart is in sync with the whole universe, but never with a whole person. Unlucky? No. Backdrop? Always.
Am I yours yet? Am I mine yet?
Am I me without you?
I am just the unsignificant note on your bedroom door.
YOU ARE READING
CREATING CONSTELLATIONS
Poetry"We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations. My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellation...
