run-on

I envision
you having the conversations you had with me with her, staring up at stars that
we once named together as her eyes focus more on the darkness than on your
voice, low and paced, explaining the constellations that connect effortlessly;
‘as people should,’ you’ll tell her, as you told me, but she won’t smile the
way I smiled, she won’t agree the way I agreed, and she won’t reach out to grab
your hand floating in the air as if trying to reach something out of touch,
something beyond our control, something beyond the stars you won’t be able to
forget we named together, and your hand will stay still against the black sky,
the star we named “fantasy” resting on your fingertip as she shuffles noisily
next to you, suggesting to go elsewhere, as if anywhere were better than the
silence of a late-winter midnight, as if anywhere were better than the space
next to you, as if anything were more understanding than the open sky, and
you’ll shuffle your feet with her to the car we first kissed in, and you’ll
focus more on the sky than the road, trying to take in the last glimpses of fluttering
light before they dim eternally, and you’ll ask her as you asked me if it
scares her that the light we see above has been dead for so long, and she’ll
shrug, her chin on her palm staring out the window at the yellow line along the
road, and you’ll feel empty, more empty than the spaces left by light so far
away, more empty than I felt while telling you it was the most frightening
thought in the world knowing we’re capable of watching things die and finding
it beautiful, more empty than the shallow grave I dug for the poems I wrote to
you that following Spring but couldn’t bring myself to fill, and you’ll park
the car in the driveway of your house but you won’t feel at home, and she’ll go
inside and sit on your bed and talk endlessly about things you feel
disconnected from, yet she won’t realize the gaping wound you’re applying
pressure to in your stomach, the way you sit uneasy trying to hold in the
remaining emotion you left behind in the shallow grave we dug for conversations
we never meant to have, for the words we never should have said, and as she
leaves you’ll lean against the door and close your eyes against the stars as
you smoke, unable to watch the death occurring above, unable to find the beauty
in endings.
I envision
you call me to ask me if I still find it terrifying how empty something so full
can feel, and we’ll speak to the same sky we sat beneath together, only the
view is fuzzy now, only things are fuzzy now, and as we sit separately within the
silence of the phone line, the emptiness won’t feel as petrifying.

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