i cried a little bit.

because i would never get up there, to the glistening rocks,
because i feel like they could hold me.

i saw the mapping of every being
that i would never be able to grip.

i feel like it could feel me staring and was staring back in a way that told me she’s staring, too.

and maybe she was.

it’s easier to cry when you’re with your family in the dark,
like in a movie theater,
where the buzzing is fainter, strangled sounds seem distant. even if i know that

the stars can’t listen

because they’re dealing with so many of the other wishes wished upon them.

like how kids are destroying their rooms, the violent mourning over the loss of their new telescope,
to the mindless mishandling of it. but they still pray for it back from the stars they still can see.

they’ve got that to deal with.

and, meanwhile,

one chime haphazardly emitted from an unseen music box.

a bracelet lost in the
mail.
with our initials on it.

as i am now inside, i look. not for too long. i know it’s not here. even if i gave up, didn’t put in too much effort, it will still haunt me.

what was that supposed to mean?