another meadow of dirt and rocks

Monday, October 13, 2014

He said he wanted to take her to the meadow so that they could talk but he 
knew and she knew that the meadow was not much more than a 
lot full of dirt and rocks.
So they sat on their hands and stared at the sky,
and it was then that she felt something stuck in her eye for 
the hundredth time, 
but she wouldn't let it out because 
she couldn't because 
he would like that too much,
So she broke the silence instead:
"People hurt people and that's 
okay because maybe 
you've hurt me, but I've hurt you too. 
I just... I'm afraid I can't stay. 
Not this time. Not today.
Today I think it might kill me if I stay."
He looked at her with questions in his eyes; they swelled 
in his pupils, his irises like tiny waves and she
remembered then how much he reminded her of the sea; the salt; 
it burns but you love it; 
it soothes your soul 
but if you stay for too long it can swallow you whole.
She wanted to keep swimming but
it was dangerous, and she had never been very good at it anyhow. 
Blink twice;
Refocus. Dry off. She was a bird. 
His head was cocked to the 
side a little bit now,
mouth agape like he might speak (though he never would).
She thought it was nice when he did that,
because he looked like he cared and maybe he did;
Maybe they all did. 
But that would have to be another discussion for 
another meadow of dirt and rocks.
Right now it was only him and 
her and an amber sky,
and the premonition that she would never fly again,
at least not with him.
And all she really wanted was to have 
her wings back so she 

(Sometimes I write poetry)--

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