I want you to read me
like a favorite character
you know so well
I want all my thoughts
laid bare
every little aching bit
my soul explored
analyzed meticulously in parts
go on, read a novel of me
and whisper in my ear
the whole story

She painted her walls
The brightest of yellows
That when she opened her eyes
She would feel some warmth
Instead of being so hollow
She wanted to paint some more
The purest of blues
Even a touch of verdigris
High up on the ceiling
In awnings and moldings
But she came home with nothing
When she couldn’t quite buy
The kind of blue in the sky
One day she looked up
To cracks of blue between the clouds
In every widening crack
Is somebody holding a paintbrush
They would paint and paint
Until every blue is used up
She wanted so much
She wanted with all of her heart
For some spilled paint she could catch
When her tears cleared
She saw someone floating down
He landed without a sound
He did not offer her some spilled paint
But in his paint stained fingers he held
A piece of the sky
She grinned and looked up
For he had missed a spot.