suddenly I’m weary of doing nothing even though we do it with precision, like the way we sat across from each other on the floor eating lunch in your bedroom, bodies squared to our plates, and I wanted to become luminous like uranium with the kind of green that enthralled and sickened Marie Curie
you want to talk, to orchestrate the moment and define why we always shatter like ceramic when we have to say goodbye but all I know is that Monet painted hundreds of water lilies and maybe I, too, will find something to fill my life with
and one day I will find my rebellion but for now I am gently held, blowing out birthday candles with the same erratic breath that seems to halt completely when I see you, and one day I will find the words that will let that air escape from my mouth but for now I just have to keep moving forward, silently