The fireflies we caught

The fireflies we caught

You are the fireflies,
laughs in the bodega,
the skip under my step,
the late night in a city we don’t know.

You are the butterflies in my stomach,
the numbness in my arms,
the smile aching on my face.

And no, you aren’t only these things,
but they hold pieces of you
that will never be lost.

No matter how many more memories
I build on top of them,
or how much I sometimes wish
you weren’t.

You are every late night phone call,
every FaceTime ring,
and all of the texts I prayed
were from you.

For the entirety of my life,
you are the happinessI will search for,
because you are the fireflies
we caught that night.

Orbits.

Orbits.

I wanted you to contact me. I wanted us to cave again, even if it meant distance and heartbreak and confusion again. That was better than longing for something I cannot see.

No, it’s not fair, and yes, everything would have to change, but it’d be worth every ounce of trouble for me to have you.

The way I felt about you made me question if I ever loved before. And living beyond my time with you was like watching a shooting star blaze by in the night sky and then watching the void just for a glimpse of something more miraculous to come.

I don’t know how to handle my life without the light you gave me. As my life screams signs pointing to you, I wonder if your life returns arrows in my direction.

I closed this chapter with you. I thought it was over and my lesson learned, but what if your orbit centers near me? What would we do if our star illuminated the world? What if we could see and it was all clear?

Aches.

Aches.

It was an old ache. An old, rumbling, roaring noise of an ache. The kind of war-wound type of ache you only know exists if you live through the pain and it’s slight recovery from the living hell of your life to the feeling that lingers and acts up when the weather does.

You were that ache. You left me different and there’s no denying it, and I wish you hadn’t, but you did.

Continue reading “Aches.”

Green.

Green.

Green are the eyes cast back at me
like ones in my reflection,
but lighter,
and darker
around the center.

Brunette is the hair I grasp
just as before,
but not any as soft,
nor any I palm and lift with her head
so gracefully

As I do,
a smile so contagious
comes across your face,
and a farce remains on mine
until you break me

With those eyes
and that hair
and that smile,
I smile.