There's a hole in 5th Avenue where my body used to lie. Where for a second my eyes opened and I gasped, before falling deeply in love with the crust of the earth.
Because the asphalt was all that kept me from melting.
And all the little notes that say "you're beautiful" are flaking off the bathroom mirrors.
And all your eyes just keep doing circles in their sockets.
Next time you're in the streets know that I was once the cracks in the pavement. Because when I finally got the nerve to reach for the stars I couldn't even feel the clouds. My fingertips failed me and the solar system mocked me for my adolescent dreams.
I jumped for the atmosphere, and for a second my fingers burned the sun, but I kept on falling.
When as sky scrapers grew closer I wondered if you would catch me, or even look up. But my dress rippled and gravity pulled me downtown. And you got your morning coffee.
This is the story.
There's a hole in 5th Avenue where my body used to lie. Where for a second my eyes opened and I gasped, before falling deeply in love with the crust of the earth.
I don't even know what this is supposed to mean but I think its amazing!
ReplyDeleteI'm taking you for granted and I'm sorry.
ReplyDeleteI don't know what this means (exactly) either. But I feel something. And it feels important.
They tell us to reach for the stars, but what happens if we miss? Or if we reach and grab, but then let go? I know there are clouds all around, but not in the summer. I think I know what 5th avenue feels like too.