She sat cross-legged on a deserted highway
all dressed in silence
her eyes spoke of how she used her paper weapons
to defend her glass heart

And I told her
the stars are (g)listening
because I didn't have the heart to say
"I think you're beautiful when you cry"

Dust collected on her eyes
like memories of old Polaroids
but she looked like a paperback
with dog-eared corners and a bent cover

In the hushed hours of the night
she looked flushed
and I'm not sure why
but she breathed out,
a tiny, nervous breath.

She told me how she missed
the boy who laughed in the sky..
she wished to be here again
shooting fireworks; dancing with sparklers
she wished to hear his laugh from then
she wished to feel her smile again

Then, she told me how she felt so small
I sympathized with her
as only empty highways and broken hearts do
and she dropped lit sparklers
to find her way back to civilization
and like her, the sparklers died

I lost her that night
but I know she's somewhere
halfway between the gutter and the sky
staring from vacant eyes
I wonder if the half-rotten forest
could ever breathe
as quietly as she did when she cried.

©️ Dark Water Diaries