when you close your eyes, what does your sky look like?
would you be embarrassed if i told you that mine reminds me of you? the sky's the shade of orange i know so well from your favourite t-shirt. & the clouds are a shy blue. sometimes when i smile softly, i can see the blue twinkle; like that day when you told me you ate stars for breakfast & so you felt like you could take on the world that day (ever since, i've been trying to find stardust in my spice drawer).
&, tell me, when you put plug your headphones in, what does your sky sound like?
yeah, of course mine reminds me of you. the planes sound like your gentle snores when it's morning already, yet neither of us want to leave the bed. there have never been such beautiful snores as yours, nearing 11am, when my finger is brushing against your sleep-marked cheek. & the seagulls in my sky sound so much like your laughter that i had to turn around & realize that it wasn't you.
i shouldn't have turned around. it was so much better when i was convinced that you were there too. it's nearing lunchtime so i was going to taste my sky next. & i bet that it would have tasted like tomato & parsley, as your tongue did that night when you were making a homemade spaghetti sauce. there really is nothing better than parsley kisses, we've both come to realize that dinner mints are overrated.
& now, i can't smell this sky either. but most importantly, i can't touch it. god i miss that. you know, i can still sense the rest of you sometimes. but i'm starting to forget how it felt when you kissed me mid-neck & lingered to feel my pulse against your lips. sure, i can still run my fingers along the cotton of that orange t-shirt, but it's not the same anymore. my sense of touch only has this stone left as a reminder of you. & this stonecan't warm up to body temperature, no matter how long the sun has been concentrating on you.
& when the sun's looking at you this way, tell me, does your sky still remind you of me?
Author notes
t h e s e p i a v i t a m i n
A contest entry
- open arms and definition by of insincerity.
1750 points, ended July 20, 25 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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Christina, you are a brilliant person, in many, many ways. This is one of the ways you show your brilliance.
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you're pretty awesome.
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Wow This is amazing! So many great metaphors and its so sweet and ends so sadly but yet it remains sweet! Wow wow! "& the seagulls in my sky sound so much like your laughter that i had to turn around & realize that it wasn't you." I love love loved that! great job!
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"i can see the blue twinkle; like that day when you told me you ate stars for breakfast & so you felt like you could take on the world that day (ever since, i've been trying to find stardust in my spice drawer)"
This is amazing. Your use of metaphor and imagery=beautiful. This is very sad, poignant, and beautiful. Gorgeous. :3
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"i can see the blue twinkle; like that day when you told me you ate stars for breakfast & so you felt like you could take on the world that day (ever since, i've been trying to find stardust in my spice drawer)"
i love it. -
I lol'd at the person who said it makes no sense.
This write was... well... duh, sad. The first few paragraphs were definitely my favorite. The stars breakfast... made me jealous that I didn't write that.
I think the important thing about this write, though, is that it should be proof to yourself that you've still got "it." Your writing is still brewing inside of you. It isn't gone; it's just getting sweeter with time.
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awwww, merci beaucoup, chéri. ♥ the beginning is my fave part too.
your wine must be getting pretty sweet & potent with time as well, no? *bats eyelashes in a way that - from me - would never seduce you, and laughs* well, why not? haha
merci encore.
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yeah...
it makes no sense at all.. -
Whoa, good storytelling.
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Beautiful.
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Love is to put another above us to be the sky and the stars. Perfect when shared and lasting . . . when love lives on longer than lives. But it is a great emptiness to realize the love is only one way.
What an excellent write. This is so poignant and nostalgically sad . . . a part of life forgotten but in photographs found in the bottoms of drawers years later.
Outstanding.
Garrison
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