melted

the sun and the moon

walking two moons in a man's shoes, they say, will show you who they truly are. i see him night after night, and he walks and he laughs and he dies. over and over, he falls. a rebel in a battle that could have never been won. he wins my heart the second i see his face, makeup smudged, sweet smile. he is a little prince on his own lone planet, yet he calls me the rose that blooms on the sole patch of soft earth in his gravity. i am unstable and unsure, for sure, a whitacre piece in the making. i want to sing him arias and lullabies and listen to his bass line forevermore. he sings on that stage with the colors of revolution in a sash tied to his hips and i feel myself soar up to a spotlight for him alone. he said if my crayon heart was to melt, he would give me his own. i want to mix my colors with his, create a shade all our own, a sweet sonata we can play together, a counterpoint to be whispered in a midnight moment. i want to reach out and know for certain there will be a boy who will intertwine his fingers with mine, that will teach me to traverse every pathway that leads to his soul, that will help me to find the words to express how i feel about him. there was a story we knew about the sun and the moon, lovers separated by fate. i worry for us. me, blazing brightly, moonlit. him, slumbering in shadow, sunkissed. he says to me, you are radiant, and i want to tell him, you are not everything to me, and then rescind it. how am i to tell him that saying he means everything to me sounds too clingy but in my heart i jump at the notion of telling him i want to spend years just ruminating over his smile. i spook at the thought of ever expressing the extent of how much i want him to walk every moon so i can trail behind his footfalls, tracing his steps and jumping to new hypotheses, listening to the rhythm of his feet, comparing and contrasting it to that of our heartbeats, figuring out how many beats per minute it will take for me to tell him that i think i'm falling in love.