I was too late.
She'd already been kissed by the sun.

Sometimes
I write something that is good
Sometimes
I write something that really stinks
Still*
I write what is found in my thoughts

I want someone to walk into my life and save me from drowning. Because honestly I don't know how to swim.

a pair of
butterfly wings
then
a ripple
on a pond
when
i
look
inside of
my
own reflection
the
reflection of me

The ocean spray is on her face, the tiny salty droplets like constellations on her skin. I realize that she's beautiful, ethereal.

But the space between us stretches for miles, a platonic bridge that I can't seem to cross.

"Sometimes I think that even the ocean doesn't have enough room for the both of us." She looks at me, her blue eyes defeated and choppy, the same color and temperance as the ocean.

I stare back at her in surprise. Maybe I don't really know Margo at all.

I cried a single tear;
Painted my bedsheets blue.
I sobbed and I sobbed,
But nothing came out,
Because all I could think of was you.

so much is large, so much is heavy
so much is hardly anything
so much is loose, so much unsteady
so much is much of nothing
so little is left, much to be found
so much is in hiding, so little appears
so much is crossed and so much falls down
so little is control, so much can be steered.

so?

They speak only of strain,
both economic and physical,
They talk only of inconvenience,
of wasted resources,
They teach only worst-case scenarios,
of foolish mistakes made by
insignificant humans.

And it's ingrained within,
intrinsic and instinctive,
we no longer value individual lives,
we no longer care for other humans,
life-forms.

they never speak of the loss of life,
they never talk of the despair -
no,
we won't ever hear of their pain,
their desperation,
because, we are the privileged
and they are insignificant.