Would you like to take a moment and laugh at the riot my life has become?
(I’ll give you three minutes and forty seven seconds, and if you’re not laughing by then, you ought to cry with me)
The boy with sun against his skin and chocolate-chip cookie eyes (you think I’m a child here, and I tell you this - I am. I am young and eight years old, and he is the only boy I swore to love) spun the world upon its very axis and hung the stars in the sky, and if you don’t believe me, I promise you - you’re wrong.
I blew dandelion wishes for him and spent pennies in every fountain for the very chance that he’d say my name, and one July afternoon, he did. He twined his hand within my own and kept me beneath the moon, and I allowed him to hold the rest of my heart. (Momma never told me to place my bets carefully, so I went all in).
And we never kissed, but I never told him how terribly I wanted to (because if his eyes were sweet, surely his lips were, too.)
But he fell for a girl with ginger-snap hair and sky-blue eyes, and she was a Summer sunset unlike any I’ve ever known (and maybe this is because she meant he’d say goodbye, and this is why she couldn’t be a sunrise in my eyes)
He spun the world three years in the arms of gravity and brought me to my knees, and I never knew prayers could be so beautiful. The night sky bled beneath them and painted my skin indigo, and this is where I learned the color of ink.
Now we rest five years orbited about the Sun, and his Summer has fallen to Winter and she has hung him high and dry like the leaves of a Wilted Autumn. And when I showed him that falling away can be beautiful, too, he reached across the heartbreak and held my hand.
(This is where you’re supposed to laugh).
When my fingers brushed the pulse in his wrist in a prayer of gratitude (because I was always thankful that he kept breathing even when I had long since stopped), I wondered how badly his knees would scar beneath my own religion, and then
I told him goodbye.
(Momma always said the best lessons were the hardest to learn and we must carry them like tally marks on our souls)