I like to think that I tried. But at the same time they used to like to think that the world was flat and that green eyes meant that you were cursed. I also like to think that I would go to the end of the galaxy for you, just so that I could fetch a few stars and bring them back to show you that not every light is burnt out yet. I like to think that the scars on both of our wrists will fade with time and will heal with care. But so far, the redness has not subsided. Your voice is still ringing in my ears. I’m not sure what you are saying, but you’re there. And you’re here. For the most part, you are everywhere. And if I could spend one more restless night curled in your arms so that I could kiss the inside of your wrist and hope for magic to appear, I could die tomorrow and be okay with that. My tombstone could be painted yellow and my corpse could grow flowers. All because I hoped for a little magic while the howling wind touched the windowpane and your breath quickened on my shoulder. I would let the coolness of your eyes take my memory back to the Bahamian sea. I would let the flutter of your eyelashes remind me of the rainbow parrotfish and the fire coral. I would let the salty softness of your skin sink into mine so that maybe I won’t be so sharp anymore. I would let myself drown in you and this time I wouldn’t call for help. I would save my last gasping breath to let you know how beautiful you are. Then I would succumb to your sea and I would sink to the bottom to let my corpse plant flowers in you.