we could pretend like there’s no world outside

our worlds pass in blinks of colour, interspersed with lines of black. ink upon skin; the way your drawing lingers. memories. 

today, you wrote me a flurry of texts and i couldn’t respond. 

the callousness of our souls is a dramatic reminder of what we once had. 
you and i are on par. he was, she is, we are. 

the feelings i have for you play on repeat the way you once played ‘Payphone’ on loop, telling me i was the fairytale that ended. 

in return, you were the spark 18year old me yearned for. the one i wrote stories about before i had met you, and i love you because we were unfinished business. but the universe isn’t a one way street and dreams change as quickly as they begin. 

you can’t wait for the universe to heal you. 

in the Nanny, Fran once famously said, if you fold two pieces of pizza together, your body will be tricked into believing it’s only one piece. 

maybe healing is the same logic. 
maybe that’s why we reminisce so much. we’re all looking for the spark, and the past is always easier to live than the future. but dear rocket, you were once mine and i was once yours and you were once the everything i dreamed of. 

but… dreams change, and teenagers grow up, and life moves on and i found you. 
and though i lost you, i lost you fairly. through no one’s fault, but my own. 

 

dear Spark,

you were the call of wild sunshine
and bright dreams.
the voice of reason when i was deranged
with the wordless need to love a worthless boy,
or seven,
most of whom took every inch of all i could give
and when there was nothing left,
took some more. 

you were the last song that i danced to
on windy autumn nights just to feel
the pull of some beautiful, tangible reality
because my dreams were starting to kill me
softly and you were
the crickets singing in the grass, reassuring me
that the soft moonlight could be
our escape, if only,
just for the moment. 

you are the scent of sweet honeysuckle
and baby-breaths, reflecting the cool color
of forget-me-nots.
the bright green of love and the fading red of bruises.
you are the taste of bitter corona, smelling just so
rightly male with that hint of lime and i am
all sweet surrender in your arms.

dear Spark,

you are the wisdom that i’ve lost.
the common face i’ve forgotten, that i walk past
as i’m pushed along with the flow of the crowd.
you are the beautiful that i’m trying to rediscover,
the familiar, soft locks of red that i’m learning to re-love
and the quiet heat of summer that i’ve always,
and always will, love. 

you can be my dear john letters and i will
gladly be your juliet, yours forever
with my wild hair blowing and your bright eyes sparkling
dreaming of each other because 
dear Spark, you are the words of reason that i miss
and i am your beautiful loner,
with my faded polish and my broken dreams.

dear Spark,

i am yours

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