tonight she does not sleep. a shooting star sends their condolences. may she find solace in this soft glow of surrender. this sinking to the earth. tonight she is the forest and the rain. a gentle thing, relentless. the torrential downpour that can only yield to quiet morning. bowing to the promise of it. there is rain outside the window. and inside the room. her hair is wet, eyes wide, hands missing. there is no way to know where the dream starts, where the trees end. if they do. the frogs have their lullabies, serenade the birds plummeting from the sky. the deer are dancing to it. the rabbits scatter. someone told her, the earth is round, but not soft. his eyes are round. what does it mean to be soft? what does it matter. he is not a poem. or a metaphor. he is only beautiful, only a boy. and she is only dreaming. now he is walking away. she is waking to a dream and she is falling, twisting, grasping, and he is still out of reach. it's the end of the world until the soft start of dawn.
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this is the place. the room where we first met. the hallway where i had my first kiss. the locker we shared filled with hoodies and handwritten letters. once i baked chocolate chip cookies and fell asleep in his arms. once i got lost in the place between romance and reality... there was no turning back. and these are the hands. my hands. that suddenly had to let go of his. that wanted so desperately to forget. but for a long time remembered. only cold. skin. scars. and for a long time forgot. to be gentle, warm, kind. i cannot pinpoint where we lost direction. but there are darts in my heart from every misjudged movement. i cannot retrace the history. so i take backroads and map getaways. replacing an address with an anniversary and turning a human into a home only results in a displaced heart. going astray in the intersections of my mind until i lose control and crash into the memories. our song becomes shattering glass. his laughter an echo in the impact. it is difficult. navigating myself out of bed. around polluted thoughts and feelings. recalculating over and over the route that might bring me back to myself. here we are. the lunchroom that fed me fudge cookies, french fries, and friendship. the dance floor covered in discarded heels and glistening polaroids. the parking lot where i learned control. there is the bakery where i will bring my friends on summer mornings before adventures. and for study sessions in september. look closely. flowers are blooming in the cracked pavement now. and these are the hands. my hands. which have always held tightly. until it is time to let go. that are doing so now with a broken promise.
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