i take my mistakes too seriously.
Your soul told me something else.
That maybe I was mistaken, perhaps I was just homesick or desperately lonely. The melancholy I feel this evening is insurmountable. My windows open, the night sounds drift in, and if I forget the cars for an instant, I am home. It is early September in the beautiful hills and valleys of Appalachia, and the green night sparkles in the moonlight.
I am nostalgic, so I want to call you, but the number I have is void, the line I tugged is cut, and you, you are free and dancing in the green night without me.
Although I held the knife myself, you struck the blow—so what can I say? Nothing, yet a multitude of words gather in my heart at the sight of those emerald hills glistening with dew, twinkling as your eyes did before you kissed me. Do I miss you, or do I simply envy you? Do all the fires of my being want to be you, so I can drink in the air I long for and kiss the ground of my homeland, like some sailor starved to near-death, just for solid land?
Solid land, on this empty night, is still resting on your shoulders, and that is my greatest shortcoming. I will continue to wake up at dawn, roll over in the gray light, and beg, plead, for sleep to take me back. I want to escape the feelings of sadness and shame when I realize, in the real world, you are far different from mine or any other’s impression of you. The bitter concoction of guilt and anger remind me…I never really asked you.
You, your moonlight clothed arm resting against me, like a test of my reliability. All I wanted was to shy away from your violent magnetism, drawing me in against my will, or to back down submissively, a good dog to a nonchalant owner, embarrassed to possibly interrupt you with my whirlwind of feelings.
But this night is different. This night’s darkness is too strong, eating me up from the inside out. Soon I’ll affix my loneliness to some other star, a distant body of light that I will, once again, know nothing about. But tonight I just want you. I want to kidnap you, steal you away into the verdant dusk, and dance like children across the face of the moon, and when you grow sleepy, I will kiss you three times before I bid you goodbye, and you sail off into the land of dreamers. My only hope is that your letters to yourself—their sincerest wishes— are greeted by the burning of a thousand beacons of light, leading you to the morning.
I wish I had sent you away like that.