what tomorrow brings.

viii. dear starboy.

viii. DEAR STARBOY.

up high, in a place where i can not reach,
only see, you wave hello, one close to the
farewell you left me with. you gave me a note,
it read how you wished you could understand
how the moon has not grown jealous over
how i beautifully mock the shape of her crescent
with the rib bones sharp enough to pierce my skin.
you told me that your absence will only grow lovely
vines and water lillies will rock quietly while the freedom
of your soul wonders in the pond by our old treehouse.
you said, before you went somewhere i can not dream of,
that you wish you could bring me a star from the clear, night sky
that time when the mechanical hands had ticked by midnight and
we still laughed over the nonsense, tracing the constellations in our
own eyes instead of the one's above us.

if only you understood me when i replied
that i didn't care for a star,
or the milky way that you promised
me on my eighth birthday,
or the band of saturn you swore you saw
in the irises of my eyes.

i didn't need any of that
when i had you.