Goldenrose

my eyes look greener when i cry,

but only in the mirror.

i think i'm pretty when i cry,

but only when i'm alone.

i never wear waterproof mascara,

because i like the way the regular kind

“What happens beyond life?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, after we die.”

“Well the point is that we don’t know.” 

“But what do you think will happen?”

I love the you that you are when you are alone, 

The you that you are when you’re at home, 

When you look with soft eyes at the cat, 

The you that you are when you step onto the doormat. 

She imagines the universe, 

the world suspended in midair.

Before, nothing except possibility even existed. 

The Milky Way, Earth, evolution–shimmer and dematerialize. 

A feeling I chase is silence. I search for it everywhere. In a world where stimulation is all around, I feel the need to get away from it all. 

We talk as the twilight turns to dark ash, 

sit out on the porch and catch fireflies in mason jars--

only for a second, then let them fly.

You tell me about friends I barely know, and I nod and smile at you,