Morning twilight.  Monochrome.
I see the old Moon, waning, a crescent of white silk.
Venus and Spica share a moment nearby
As the Sun edges the horizon.

In my bag, I feel the breeze gently stir past the open zipper at my shoulder.
Sunrise creeps in.
Clouds mottled and streaked.
Red. Orange. A pillar.
Iron incandescence. Vibrant.

Earth awakens with whispers.
Trees reach and touch with each finger of wind plucking the branches.
Songbirds start.  Dogs caution.
First beams break the horizon.

Sixteen geese wing past with down swaddled in the early light.
I rise to give my wife words to see this beauty.

It was utterly vague and vast

How the sky mesmerize the night

Dim light of words and suffice 

She unsure of anything to sacrifice.

It was the only star shining brightly
Whom to tell when she cried vividly
The smile is worthless yet uncanny

It still a mysterious spotlight hidden under the canopy.

Call for the all it is worth of every lullaby

Sing to her the song of another mid-July

All the roads she could partake in

All the loves she had lost and found from within.

Holding the root through the palm

Not the tree but withhold with her arm

Say that she couldn’t be loved

That because she flawed in every curves.

Aloof is not a worthless feeling

Another paradox from isolation of fitting in.

Let me entirely clear,
As clear as crystal,
As clear as the sky
On a summer's day.

It has come to my attention
That I was a fraud,
Just as you were.

I have recently realized,
It was never you I loved.
It was your potential.
Who you could become.
Who I thought you were.

And now going over it all in my head,
I realized I fell for sweet nothings,
And soft tones,
And ginger touches,
And brash conversations
About politics
Where you were just agreeing
To appease me.

And I am still a firm believer
That you can love someone
Because of their flaws,
Not despite them,
Because that is true love in itself.

But I did not love your flaws.
I feared them. All of them.

And in hindsight
I regret
Confessing my soulmate philosophy.
And explaining the red strings of fate,
And telling you of my synesthesia and demisexuality.

Because my being demisexual made you feel special.
You aren't, by the way.

And you used,
Almost constantly,
My synesthesia against me.
Even when I told you
"It is not an ability,
Nor a power.
I cannot read minds."

I also told you
"It is not a party trick."

And you pressured me into using it for the latter
Due to your selfish desire
To use my as a ploy and a conversation piece,
Among other things.

I never loved you.
No,
I loved who I thought you were.

Because you are not good,
Nor kind,
Nor gentle,
And no where near loyal.

You are selfish
And cruel.

Judgmental glances
And cruel tones,
Harsh words,
And selfish intentions
Made up our relationship.

Your mother wrote
Upon her wall
What love is.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

It was literally written on the wall.

And we weren't any of that for each other.

If they had heard your words,
And if I had seen my own actions,
All would have known from the start
That we were toxic.

So keep fooling the world,
I'm going to be
A better me.

And upon these feelings for a Bluebird
Born under Mercury,
And the light of the star Spica,
I have come to see
The fear I have
For falling for anyone.

But maybe it's a risk
I'll be willing to take,
The closer I get,
The more sure I feel.