9 fragments of littered thoughts- that I'm too mute to say

I.
    Once - you created a bungalow for my tears built not of flammable material like halfway promises with expiration dates, but of bricks and waterproof stone that held indefinite gel cap measures of time.  For a long time, when the crackling chasms of hurts stretched wider than the altitudes my bailing buckets could reach, I'd imagine I could hear your voice telling me what umbrella to use and how many shades of rainbow I should paint myself.


            Even as your phone calls and painting washing machines in crayon sensibilities had left my life- an echo of ethanol fusion words seeped through the toxin lining in my veins to my head.


            You were more than my best friend and my soul mate, the person who could draw my murals of who I was into grey scale palms, and think of more than I would. Beyond the after image of a fairy godmother you were a belief system of the way hope might feel if its charred edges were singed away so only henna smiles were left.
   

  When obsidian symbols broke into your opaque screen colored 12.30 on mauve Saturdays, instead of muting my stream line tears- your voice answered and because I needed to- asked me to tell you everything. Iridescent glitter sliced my tears in half but the drought fed resevoir that used to be overflowing when I trusted you, started to feel the impact of sepia rain.
   

      Months of deafening yourself to heartache screaming letters had taught me by rote, how when I needed you I couldn't expect you to ever be there- even if I still trusted you not to tell. But when I had to rewrite pages of progressive education style ways of knowing you, the axis on which my universe spun reversed its polarization and tilted.


      I started to believe you and your irredescent promises that once littered moonlit Jacuzzis in February nights while we wrote tributes to each other. It reminded me why I'd fought with myself to not just let you go- because you could read my moods like I can quote Teen Dance movies and you quote Gilmore Girls. You didn't teach me to trust you again- but you reminded me of the cyan shades that fill in the lines between my lungs, when I'm able to numb the pain.


    I need you to be there, promising me to hold me tight as I long to run- although you won't know the words I need to stop myself from flying, the way its possible to hug me so I can't run. Just be there.

  Right now I'm wingless, but as my vermillion and avocado pinfeathers regrow, you have to guard the crystal embers of my soul, so by the time my baby wings can fly- I still have whole internal organs.

I've always wanted to fly- dreamed that the clouds kissed my skin- and you can't stop me from trying take off. But if I run, I'll forget how to soar, so tie my feet down with belonging to you, and needing me to hold on.