I used to write poetry.
About brown eyes symbolizing home. Sporting events didn't make sense until it got cold out and you were still my warm sun.
Did we dim each other?
The sun and moon dance around each other, reflecting and blinding. The sky as a side effect - a byproduct.
Don't be a byproduct of me trying too hard.
But we're not day and night. Metaphors of space fall like we do, caught in the gravity.
You feel like my dreams.
Free. Alive.
Belonging.
I belong in a school hallway.
People moving back and forth. Back and forth. Away and back. Away and back. I always come back.
But I won't come back here.