Your hands run down my arms and reach for my hands. We hold. We each turn aside, but our hands still hold. We walk away, but our hands won’t let go. We finally slip, softly, unwantedly .
As Sun met Sun into your Sky, past our frail hug & your escape planned out, I wrote you in peace as I drawed a line to delimit the piece we could leave behind. I folded in a piece of my Heart to bittersweeten a parting that was hard .
Then Sun met Sun into my Sky, and you afraid, hide. Closed the windows and kept real silent, ‘til it was late and - you thought - Sunlight wouldn’t find you. And almost a whisper, almost broken by breeze, you blew in the best you could utter out “I missed your party, guess I wasn’t invited. I wish you the best, thank you for all the rest - for everything”. You laughed nervously, and I, brazenly (breathe easy), said “You know that I know that’s a lie. If you don’t know I did, you don’t know me”. You clutched my invitation inside your pocket. You know I could feel it.
We each turn and follow our way with lips bruised black by our swallowed tears. You vaguely mention my name as you speak generally of the things that you miss. I advertise my moments of bliss, like all the fools that desperately want to rise above a downer such as this. I stand outside your window at night, you don’t see me, but you feel me. You won’t worry long as I’m not Sunlight. We each move on opposite sides, but behind everyone’s eyes, including our own, our hands still hold. It means nothing at all…unless we know.