We all wish for the deep blackness of the expanse to be scratched by something sharp, a nail, a piece of broken glass, a word. Where the night is broken, light shines through.
I will remember where you touched me first, the desks flecked with paint that was not ours, the dusty smell of light spilling in through the west-facing windows, warming everyone’s hair. I will be sad to see this place go. I will be sad to let go of the places where we walked, the places where we sat, the places where we watched birds and birds watched us and everyone flew, but in different ways.
This is a constellation of everything we have created and everything we will create. I have managed to breathe in just the right way, by accident, and after that. After that. Light shining through.
Light shining through, and you.
In the end, it will be sad to leave the brushed-steel of winter, the watercolor world, the specific way New England blends light in winter into seventeen different shades of grey.
Words have become unglued in me. I exist, strangely - 75% letter, 25% light.
(via:3by5indexcard)
2 months ago