won’t you miss me?
It’s your fourth drink and you think no one’s counting. There’s a smile alive on your face and I can tell your heart is beating fast by the way your fingers tap on the table. You’re laughing because they’re playing your favorite song and it’s like crystals in the night.
“I want to drink stars from my glass,” you say.
“But I’m seeing them in your eyes.”
You laugh again and you ruffle my hair before you take my hand and dance with me.
We’re out again under the heavens and the oceans pour from the sky and wash away your make up. You hide your face and feel ashamed, and I’m trying to find a way to tell you I’ll stay, but all I say is, “It isn’t late.”
The moon is a globe and the clouds are sea foam and all the stars in the sky are floating corpses of flowers and here we are, under the expanse of it all: you worrying about how everything is grey and how sunshine is grey and how the trees are crumbling and spilling bits of grey bark and how maybe your sight isn’t how it used to be and maybe what I feel for you is just a dream.
You think no one knows what you think of. Beads of rain leak from your dark hair and you ask me to take you home. I can taste salt and feel wax on your lips as you mumble goodbye and leave me wondering how the world is so goddamned breathtaking in greyscale.