the light of the moon feels like the burn of a fire and the cracking of a house that never did anything but love the way you kept the kettle on even after the water boiled because you knew metal wouldn't spark the way their smile made you. you're so silent you're deader than the branches of trees that have met their match with the concrete, you look down from the 6th story of your apartment building on pike street. you follow the fire escape with your eyes and you wonder why the house has to be burning for you to use it, and why it doesn't even touch the ground. you remember the way she loved sitting on the bottom step like a swing and imagining she was weightless. she never meant to hurt you with the way her hair felt like needles and her touch felt like petals, and you never meant to torture yourself with how you thought of her as a metaphor. the night is where sunsets go to die and you swear at the stars like a sailor when you know **** well the moon is the one who controlled the tide. you hate how she loved the sea and how every hawaiian volcanic eruption flooded it but never stopped it from coming to shore. the day's losing its lust and it's barely midnight and you haven't smoked in so long because you know what it feels like to be addicted to something that could **** you. her figure like an hourglass and that still wasn't enough to tell you she was a ******* ticking time bomb. you're afraid of the dark and maybe that's why you confided in her as a safety. embers in her eyes, the way fire's were blue at their hottest point and her pupils were surrounded by the purest color you'd ever seen. the funny thing is, lighthouses don't guide people back home with the intention that they won't ever leave again. you're like a left lane driver that had too much to think and your life is passing with every sign telling you to exit. you've gone by 18 red cars, 94 blue ones, and you have 2 more days on the road. you won't ever see her again. you won't see her in the ocean reflection. you wouldn't dare see her in the morning sunlight, but you'll see her years from now in every coffee shop, on every bridge, in every strum of the guitar you used to play, there goes your life, passing by, every plane in the sky going somewhere different, every vehicle trying to locate a home, and they're all walking on two legs, somewhere where the sky meets the sea, and somewhere where your eyes will never meet me.