Half a moon and Orion's Belt.
Like a light bulb, the fall turned on. The whisper of late summer died before it even became a thought, so the chill in the air should be here. None of us were ready for it.
I keep trying.
Except, instead of throwing words up into the sky, hanging them like stars, I take them down, a little more each time. It's embarrassing, how many points of light I have strung for men who didn't want them, maybe didn't need them.
We keep looking up, at the clouds, the stars when they want us to see. We keep looking up for answers. When my neck starts aching from all of the looking up, I look down at my poor feet. How exhausted they must be, carrying this sack of flesh back and forth across state lines, across the days and weeks just to get to today.
I'm not painting stars and clouds on the ceilings of your bedroom. I'm etching them into my toenails, drawing them on the underside of my feet. It's the last place you will look.
09.26.13 || 4:08 am
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