i was drowning in your galaxies of blue. blue so pale- like your e y e s when i swore i could feel them on me but you weren't there. i was drowning in your galaxies in which the stars would shine shine bright / bright light / bright white light / pale bright white light- not like printer paper in the sun more like the pigment of your skin in the moonlight.
i didn't mind. drowning didn't seem so bad. because even though i felt awful and sad, i also felt loved, and that was so very pretty to me as a poet. as a lonely star amidst constellations.
you almost said the "l" word a total of (probably) seven times in the five long-short months that we were almost lovers. i actually said the "l" word a total of five times. twice as a half joke, hoping you'd pick up where i slacked in clarity but never in sincerity and three times (thrice) in my goodbye in which i beheld these self-evident truths:
that the almost (always almost) meant that we could never be lovers and i thought that i'd prefer us to be nothing to each other but maybe friends.
(maybe, maybe, maybes make me want to wish on stars but not the ones in your eyes)
and although time flies i'm still somehow drowning in your galaxies of blue.
and i wonder if its killing me slowly as your stars blink and i'm gone when they open their eyes. *almost.
oh man. that was long but my heart needed it to be written. might be spoken word if someday i can read it aloud without bursting into tears.