"Do I know you?" a woman stands in the doorway. the feeling under your skin where someone feels too familiar and it itches. he trys to place her and
a thousand lost poker games and the old chevy that he drove until it died. punching a time clock, her in a white dress looking quite scared and pearls as big as the stars around her neck. white cake and the vietnam war. cold socks, cold boots, cold toes. foreign soil and the three explosions which were probably best forgotten anyway. splitting his knuckle on a tooth and her with her hair in curls looking quite scared as they waded through the emergency room. burying her. the driveway as he walked up it, her first steps. tiny socks, tiny shoes, tiny toes. a tire swing at an old quarry from when he was a kid and taking her there. brown eyes ona princess standing in the living room and then years later, a woman standing in the living room. growing grey, growing sick.
that was her philosophy, to bring power to the chaos, to fuel the fire. she painted pictures of dead horses and walked heavy, her tiny frame stomping against the floor boards trying to punish the world for everything that had ever
they call them dead stars, white dwarfs. they shone once, giant bright gods in themselves and
possibly, maybe, perhaps
there were planets worshipping their light and
possibly, maybe, perhaps
on one of those planets there was a me and revolving around the second sun, there was a you.
time has worn them, scarred them with comets and tired the life out of them.
they have collapsed, imploded on themselves and created their own requiems. billions of years, aching across the universe and they have expired, alone. the empty bodies have glided across a pinpricked dome of night for so very long and now, they rotate an arms length from each other. circling every 39 minutes, sweeping close their surfaces almost touching, almost.
imagine the vast universe, wider than any ocean or mind and the slow spin to each other. see, they tear at the time space continum, the ripples coming ever closer just as the tide pulls to the shore. an anomaly, a flaw in science- a tether of gravity to each other as if to say
i've been waiting for you".
a million years, a tiny drip in the ocean of time and one day, one day, the waiting will become ravenous. too strong and their atmosphere's will graze, a millisecond of a kiss, a scraping against each other and the forces will rise up
will grab them and smash. they will collide.
an explosion and of the deadened bulbs, burned out stars and white hot energy. yes, they will die a second death into each other, their cores will light up the sky and
together, they will combine. together, they will be reborn into a new star,
together they will live again
and possibly, maybe, perhaps,
they will breed planets and possibly, maybe, perhaps
she used to touch his face and he remembers it, clearly, that her hand would glide across his jaw bone
and all the blood would rush from the world to his own chest. each drip weighing down, pushing him into her skin, leaving the inside of his mind barren as a desert. tumble weeds woven into spider webs, all thoughts frozen like flies still wriggling in the cross fire of her beauty. she burrowed through him so completely, she made his thoughts quiet literally
and it was wonderful. sunday morning, beautiful and innocent and selfless; calm. it had been easy, he did not veer off the road into love but rather stumbled
“so somewhere, there’s a sheet with our names and two checked boxes in a
celestial filing cabinet. somewhere, there is a world where you fell in love with me. somewhere, right at this moment, there is a bed that we both
“the way you think is beautiful”
“once, in Oswego, i saw gardeners nailing ivy to the side of a new apartment complex and it made me so angry. so angry that i wouldn't go outside anymore for fear of seeing it, they were cheaters. why shouldn't the stones have to wait for their age? if i have to wait, why shouldn't they?”
"is this really what you think about when you're alone?"