This is a cloud of my thoughts - written by a girl on a hill in the preview of a summer with her body pressed to the grass and the wind streaming through her hair. This is a cloud that has gone into my mouth, through my lungs, and out to my mind. This is a cloud I wish to share with you because you let me see just how lovely it is to be in a space together by ourselves.
This is the beginnings of the corners of my heart.
I don’t know why or how we started, nor why it was so hard to stop. I don’t know what to make of the way we have spun and the myriad of chances it took, both bad and good, to have brought us to here. How could I not regret our moments when they only occurred after hours of your pain (and in some ways, mine)? How could I savor every minute, every note, when our souls still hurt from the wounds of others?
Yet how could I? How could I ever? How could I regret the heat of your skin and the hint of your lips? How could I regret the details of your touch, like feathers of winds but yet insistent, real? I like to get lost in the sensuously senseless poetry of our time, the improbability of our escape. I feel freed from the rules of the world because I never believed we would be permitted to break them. Spring quarter first year was informed by the ache of you - spring quarter second year, I think I might break of you. But the latter is a fate that I chased. The latter is a meltdown of an entirely different nature.
I don’t know how to let go of our hurt and I don’t know whether I would zero the clock on ours if it meant I could return you to the perfect joy of hers. If I had the right, I certainly can’t promise I wouldn’t. I still think of her often, not even a fragment of how often you must, but enough to doubt. Sometimes I wonder if she’ll show up on your doorstep. Sometimes I see a flash of memory in your eyes and I wish to god she would, just to spare you whatever agony is left.
I do know that since there’s not a damn thing I can do I am not sorry that I see the gold blue of the sun and the sea on your face. I do know that two puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit can still be beautiful. I do know that when words from your fingers send me flying somewhere far above the earth, I am high enough to see the sky in your eyes. I do know that we may not be meant for shit but even if what was intended to become eternal happiness can’t quite be patched up by the mere timelessness of moments, I am more than okay with the fact that we’re free to keep trying.