originally published on October 23 2018
Summer granted mercy in the wildflower field as I cradled her head in my lap. One hand stretched to hers, gentle in the embrace. Our fingertips grazed what we couldn’t speak. History leisurely wrote of each gaze in a journal as if saving the moment would save us. We tried, lest we forget—oh, we tried; in our tired longing, we distanced ourselves and drank rosé, aching our throats smooth in the liquor of consuming tender want. It was in the way I whispered I love you to the wind in the dusk of hoping tomorrow wouldn’t come. It was the inevitable shift towards knowing that became the knowledge of our parting nearing. Love says, whatever we hunger for today will starve us in the dawn of the next morning. We found love to speak true even in my preference to masquerade hurt for generosity. It was a poisonous thing, to be in love with someone who was not in love with you. It was a dream, it was a dream, it was— something gone.