I remember the sky,
the way it bruised that night,
a deep blue and purple and indigo.
You reached up, your smile widened,
and your hand drew back those same shades.
Your fingertips were ink-stained,
a small sky on each finger.

I reached up and grasped only air.

it is not a solution i long for,
it is a friend, a shoulder, a hand to squeeze mine.
and it is not answers i crave,
it is warmth, softness, an anchor to the Earth.

you don't have to understand me,
or the shadows that cling to my silhouette,
just be a light in my darkness,
and that is more than enough.

and it is a quiet kind of love we share,
a ghost of a lifetime between us.
it is solid and soft, a force like the sea,
gentle as summer breeze.
it is careful and measured, an ebbing and flowing, waning and waxing.
it is like breathing, to love you, and I will, long after my lungs give out.

I didn't want you,
I wanted love
and I have realised
that they are not the same thing.

You were a mould
that I poured my insecurities in,
a computer I tried to program.

But you are a sky,
stormy and clear and rainy and warm.

You were so blue when I longed for red.

I didn't want you.
I wanted the thought.

I am made of dead things.
I am composed of the last exhale from cooling lips.
I am the twitch in the still body's toes
and the hardening of its skin.
I am the shake of a uniformed head, a gasp of a mother, a tear of an orphan.
I am built from decay and anger and sorrow.
It takes so much old energy to get me to tomorrow.

How could i tell you?
That the pink that stained your cheek was no longer my favourite colour,
that your laugh sounded out of tune,
that your skin lacked the heat i craved,

that my love dwindled and then fell away all at once.

i'm sorry and i'm not.

i love you, but i don't.

you are game over.
vision behind weary eyes,
when does this love stop?