Her shoes always hungered for the taste of new gravel, and she spent each day determined not to repeat the last. Insomnia is infinite among those who march to their own erratic heartbeat, and so, she lived her life caffeine-fed, in a constant state of motion and wanderlust, ever-curious and ever-ready for whatever adventure adrenaline and fate could deliver.

Head in the clouds was too grounded for her ambitions - she was ankle-deep in space, starry-eyed and gravity-defiant.

Couldn't you feel the dust from fingertips that traced print as if it'd know flames tomorrow?
Couldn't you feel the coldness of an empty bed deserted long ago to candlelit expeditions into lost rooms of ancient pyramids?
Couldn't you see the craters forming underneath the eyes of someone who dreamed of picnics on the moon?
Couldn't you see the color in her cheeks from sunlit days in meadows with Thoreau, Hemingway, Plato, and Longfellow?
Couldn't you see the flimsy rib cage of a thought-starved girl whose curiosity hungered like soggy wildflowers for sun?

And she was curious about everything, but her most curious of her curiosities was you.

I remember the first time you tried to love me;
You, in your Audrey Hepburn dress,
Who I told you I found quite attractive.
We ate Italian, because, like me, you like Italian.
You fed me an analysis of symbolism of Murakami
That I thought I read off of Google.
And you wore red lipstick because that’s
What classy women who fall in love wear.
Your eyes were a clouded amber,
And your hair dyed jet black, like my ex.
You want to travel to Barcelona, Spain,
Where my public Facebook pictures show I was.
And this planet’s too big, and this town too small
Not to have wanderlust, you say.
Your favorite season’s winter.
Because you love winter landscapes,
Like the snowflake wallpaper on my phone.
I call you everyday.

I remember the second time you tried to love me;
You, in your blue dress,
Which I told you was my favorite color.
(It’s yours too.)
You talked about the latest in deep space explorations
A week after I shared my moon photographs.
And isn’t NASA fascinating?
You told me about a movie you saw,
By my favorite director.
You dreamed of traveling the Nile and seeing Egyptian pyramids.
And you loved the smell of coffee,
Which I smelled like on our first date.
Your blonde roots are showing.
I didn’t call you back.

I remember the first time you loved me;
You wore purple because that’s your favorite color.
And we got breakfast because you love breakfast foods,
Not Italian.
You drank water; coffee makes you sick.
You pointed to some lilies because you love that flower.
And you told me you didn’t think Gatsby really loved Daisy
Because she was a reflection of all the things he wanted;
He was just pretending to be something
To impress her, you say.
And this wasn’t something I found off of Google.
And you mentioned how you never wanted to travel,
Except by boat,
Because airplanes are terrifying.
You hated dresses and how thick makeup feels on your face.
And NASA is interesting, but you’d rather explore the earth.
You were living with me then.

I remember the last time I loved you;
I tried finding cruise ships so we could travel
To Germany because you don’t really care for Spain or Egypt.
And I researched German alcohols because that’s what you liked.
And I wore red because you liked how it brought my eyes to life.
I talked about how fascinating ocean life is
Because you majored in Marine Biology, not Film,
Like you told me on our first date.
Murakami has dust; I read Thoreau.
Your eyes are cerulean,
Completely unlike the dark amber of the coffee I don’t drink.
And you’re gone.
Just like the man who liked Murakami and Italian food.
But I’d sell moonshine for you, sure.

You’re an unshakeable force with thoughts that stretch like night sky and lips that seldom move.

You’re a firestorm of curiosity, thinking yourself into age as the clock cuts wrinkles into your skin.

You breathlessly watch flames dance, waves crash, and clouds float carelessly.

And they move, why don’t you?

Sometimes separation is key;
the moon was once part Earth,
but she glows on her own now.

Our mornings were mornings
of butterflies and blossoms
and banana pancake breakfasts
to the early pastel colors
of summer days
warm in the sleepy sunlight.

Paint the evening sky in the light
that exudes the majesty she is
in the moments-between-moments;
even the moon, although radiant,
only knew darkness until it saw her.

Watch life bloom where it wasn't
in the patches of fragrant wildfire
that sway airily in the calm arms
of the wind at noon sun.

( Our plans always fell as hasty child's scribble, but every farmer knows that a garden takes a season of storms and worms to bloom. )

Catch the sunlight dripping through
As you stumble nectar-drunk
Harvesting honey fountains from
ripe flower to ripe flower.