citrine,
also known as the stone of the sun
and you,
also known as the sun to my moon
as shining and bright and new
floating parallel in the sky
and every eclipse brings us closer
but, god, i could never touch you.
though i dream of it
as i roll this yellow rock between fingertips
the cold, hard, smooth on my skin
opposite to how i imagine you
warm and soft and rough
as long as i sleep, never ending.
as long as i live, unknowing,
never enough.
it’s a weird place to be, stuck right in between i’m still in love with you, and i deserve more than you gave me when both are, at once, true i liked you much more before i loved you i liked you bette
you made me feel like you loved me even when you don’t. it was just enough for me, ignoring reality for a dream. though the wool was thin, it sat snug against my eyes, nonetheless. i could sculpt it i
grasping at straws trying to find the words anything, in any language, that could possibly do you justice. an impossible feat writer's block returns to me flabbergasted, swallowed whole by this feelin