It began with fire and chemicals, burning away the fabric until all that was left was skin
and I laughed in the dark at the mess I was making
and as the fire died down, you paused before you looked away, just long enough to catch my eye
caught my breath
and I knew
the light I was following wasn’t the flame.
If it doesn’t ache, If the magnets under our skin aren’t pulling us towards each other, If we aren’t colliding, melting into an unstoppable element,
we should just walk away.
If it’s worth doing, we won’t be able to stop it.
& when you see them, catch their eye & when they’re walking, match their stride & when they speak, hear their rhythm & when they dance, lose yourself in them & when you’re tangled, taste their skin & when they wake, begin again
& when you start to learn, let go
because beautiful things should be felt, not known.
Remember, in the dark when the clouds were mountains we thought would swallow us
Remember, the piercing light breaking into our fantasy whispering lines between our thoughts and dreams
Remember, the world illuminated shadows falling into corners as we danced the streets to spin the world
and we were naive enough to believe each part was an eternity
The pattern that beats on a butterfly’s wings brought down the sky in a world unseen as I hold my pen and draw the gate between things called love and things we deem hate because art and filth fight in this room edges that cut flowers that bloom noises that echo and crumble the roof
Given the choice, I’ll walk on the glass jump over the clouds that promise to pass
Although there’s beauty in every scene, I learned to breathe through broken things.
If they burn down the city to show you the light, they’ll leave you buried in the smog, forever a shadow
even if the flame writes love, the smoke sings loss, and hides the way home as it blackens the purest light
is the dance of the flame worth the loss of your way,
or will you turn to find the stars?
If it explodes,
light into darkness darkness into light
will the flames move too quickly for us to watch the end
or will we dance in the colours skin basked in light
as the edge crawls forward
a darkness that doesn’t leave a void
They say, “In the end everything will work out. It will have been worth it, and we can sleep without these memories of hate and loss, destruction and war, and all the misfit thoughts and wasted magic of in-between will disappear.”
And they say it with such conviction in their eyes, pulling the skin down, tight, across their cheekbones as they’re trying to smile, settling their bones down into chairs that won’t let them relax after another day of this torture they’ve made their life.
I’ve always wondered why they’re content waiting until the end.