Blue hands
It’s a cloudy afternoon inside my chest, the world that lives beneath my ribcage is surfaced with raindrops, and a heavy heart beat. The sky is grey above me, as is the sky within my lungs. My hands they long for the ocean, as they touch this chilled November air. They long for you as well, but just like the ocean you are so far away. And so I will become friends with the dandelions that sleep below the silver stars, and together we will wilt into each others golden petals; swallowing each others stems drenched in melancholy. Darling I miss the feel of the moon on my back, holding hands with the sun as they run slowly down my spine, away from their troubles, into my soul. So I will run to the edge of the earth, where the moon is resting. And I will close my eyes and paint my fingers blue, so whoever they touch will know how much I miss you.
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