Across the City

Across the city from you, I am with you. I can see you in my mind’s eye perfectly vivid and brazen, reflecting off the glass that encompasses and consumes me. I feel endless in my pursuit of your heart in the palm of my hand. 

Hot, chapped, moist, all in all overwhelming. I hate how brushes always seem to pull my hair out in chunks. My scalp stings most unpleasantly afterward, just as the wind weaves and whips at my cheeks through the trees. 

She said time is an illusion and if here is here and here is there, then where is here? I don’t have an answer. I wish I knew the meaning of life and if all of the little pieces will fall together so seamlessly or need to be held together by glue. Only to peel apart again after being cared for so meticulously. 

Recently, my heart has felt heavy, weighed down by everything that can no longer be done. Hugs. Kisses. Clasped hands. I wear my heart on my sleeve, my emotions readily apparent, I laugh about my trauma. I feel like I’m playing a game trying to figure you out; I wish you would let go of what is plaguing you, turning your insides into mush. 

A twinkle of a laugh is always the best way to start the day. The burn of whiskey is the best way to complete it. I walk through the city with nowhere to go watch my blurry reflection stare back in the structures surrounding me. The outcome is I still don’t end up any closer to you.

The patrons bubble and spill out from the alleyways like they were a witches’ brew. They know it is forbidden, yet they continue to do so. It brings about a wave of death nobody can speak of. The buildings fling nature’s tear drops down on passersby’s. The people ruffle the feathers across their backs at a mere inconvenience, but Mother Nature weeps as I do at the state of this vast cosmos. 

Rebel. Protect what we cannot see. The guilty. The innocent in equal measure. It is insurmountable. My throat is raw from screaming. It doesn’t seem like anyone will ever be able to hear. I don’t think anyone wants to listen anymore.

Nobody has ever claimed the impossible is easy. I have skinned my knees drank my own salty tears for what is right. Yet, I always see in the alleyway, the neon lights continue to flash and flicker in glassy blue eyes. 

 I know you can see the truth, but acting is always harder seeing and seeing is always harder than being. I know you don’t want to be, and rolling out of bed is harder than being. I always have to remind you that it is what it is. Everything happens the way it is meant to happen because it is meant to happen that way.