it was a spectrum of colors—
all of them can be described as them,
but neither of the colors really define them,
maybe that is why they use words instead.
his breath,
panting,
ringing the doorbell once,
twice,
thrice—
a soft click,
and he sees a face he remembers,
each angle,
shade,
and the temperature of those cheeks.
the room was a dumpster,
cigarette packs at the random,
broken shards of glass,
ripped pictures,
but her hair was brushed neatly,
so she could add some beauty into this madness,
that she perceived as nonetheless an effort to relieve her anger.
the skies were dimming,
the setting skies fuming,
it's colors devoid of those oranges, yellows, pinks, blues, and purples,
waiting for the moon,
an eclipsed call,
to rise up,
and overshadow the sun with it's darkness.
he peered into her eyes,
trying,
but he couldn't say a word that would mean much,
out of billions of words,
stringing together one sentence became a demise.
relapsing fingers can cross together,
a strange touch that is so familiar,
but so distant like the reaches of space,
and that is what he saw in her hands,
or maybe fireflies of his name,
a star that is flying farther and farther away—
it's gone,
but the light still shines in the dim night,
and he can remember the slight shudder of warmth,
the beating of their wings,
across his palm.
she saw millennials of beauty etched across a screen projected across blank diversity,
an imminent danger of words,
something she always wanted to see,
but it slipped away from her fingers and now she has it,
a faithful tattoo on her ankle,
infinitely there,
until her skin is gone and she has bones left in her coffin or a ditch,
even a casket.
the ambiguity of their words is their distortion,
their solace,
their pain ripped up in sheets of paper which translate to words thrown away,
so tranquil and beautiful,
one touch can break,
but a word does more,
it swallow whole and they fade—
what is their end?
what is their realization to time,
holding,
greed,
and more alike?
somehow,
he finds his arms wrapped around her,
holding her,
something golden and silver of the stars that he knows.
"kei," she starts, unsure.
they don't know,
but they know that
they can breathe.
she can breathe for the second time, maybe her last breath because of him.
"i'm sorry," she mumbles, trying to push him away but he held on.
"he left me. i was confused. i wanted someone to need me, but i— i was selfish. all of this was me. i— i — wish we could've always just have been happy," her voice cracked,
fragmented tears dripping onto the fabric of his shirt,
he hadn't held her near his chest for what seemed like forever,
and that to him,
was more than eternal.
he wanted to tell her, comfort her,
but he didn't know how.
he wanted to begin again, but he didn't know how—
so many things, he didn't know himself,
a letter grade or percent was all he needed to prove himself,
but not now—
he needed words, the real kind.
into the new waning of the moon,
the ones where shadows align with light,
both equally in their own aspect,
a miracle.
they are waiting for that ambiguity to unite their words with their hearts again,
and—
he thinks he has the courage now,
he doesn't know how, why,
but it's lulling at his heart,
and he's waiting for himself to say words that can be seen from the horizon,
where it aligns—
"i- " she begins again,
because she doesn't know herself enough to hold on anymore;
those words called apologies mean so much.
"i don't care, whether you apologize this time,
or next time,
or any other time, because—
i love you."
a truth,
one of the real essences he wanted—
warmth,
a feeling that she was needed,
something she's always craved for—
they know what their words will become,
across those skies,
there was always a meteor or few stars unpolluted by light,
and they thought they could read words from their shining,
so they decided to transcribe them,
just for them,
and them alone—
that ambiguity became clear,
one meaning,
to each word.
fin.
