Thursday, January 10, 2008

I enjoy your gaze.

You're not coming home with me, not today, not any time soon. My edges are still feeling a little to sharp for that, my skin too thin. My heart is beating in 3/4 time. I am fragile and painful to be around and slightly shrill, and you can't even dance to me. But in spite of all of that, I do still like to watch you watching me, even when I don't mean to act on it. Especially then.

In all of the time I spend thinking about outer space, I always think around the moon. I imagine that there was a time that the moon was as distant and fascinating as Saturn or the Omega Nebulae or spiral galaxy NGC 3079, but then we took a rocket up there and it turned out to be only dirt, and I can't think about the moon without thinking about all of the people who thought that it would be so much more. So I acknowledge the moon, I pause to think about how pretty and foreign and far away it is, but I stop before I let myself remember that we've had that sand on our hands before.

So you're staying out of my skyline right now, but I'm keeping your glances. I'm folding them up and putting them in my pocket and sleeping with them under my pillow, all of those seconds of opportunity lost, but not entirely gone away.

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