They say the sky and the stars are a story written millions of years ago. What we see is an illusion, an image that no longer exists.
I think it is naive to have faith in such lies, to talk to the stars when the soul is dark and heavy, to find solace in a mirage. Yet I do it.
Isn’t it what I’m doing with you too?
I rest my heart on your broken promises and your illusionary words, because I have nothing else. Because beggars are not choosers and wishes aren’t horses.
I let you be the ray of sunshine when the darkness is engulfing me. Which is why I bear it when you kick my naked soul trembling in the blue cold, sans protection, sans the shields I wear for the world.
For I understand the cliche that the good comes with the bad.
For I understand that a cliche is a cliche because it’s a universal truth.
I choke on my tears night after night, dawn after dawn, wondering where you are, despite it all.
You promise your promises and lock me in dark rooms.
I, an unfermented mind, hold on to your words.
On the nights when the moon does appear, I look for you in it. Despite all of it. Inspite all of it.
I cry a million clouds over plaid shirts
because I don’t know how to let go
even when I know I should.
© That Girl in the Fray, 2018. All rights reserved.