love, you say,
is as tenderly golden as
buttercups in may,
as apollo's flaxen hair.
and you wish for a lover.
fated together
as achilles was with
his patroclus,
and psyche was with
her eros.
you are certain,
their lips will
taste of stars and light
and everything beautiful.
you are certain,
one day,
when your eyes meet theirs,
everything
will be
right.
on any other day,
i would say my favorite song
is (nope)
it reminds me of
who i am, or rather,
i guess, who i hide behind.
today is different.
today i finished
i miss summer camp.
i miss the pines
and the deer that hid
among them.
i miss the sunsets,
which were somehow
ever so much more beautiful
than any of the ones back home.
there is a language,
of clear skies and fluffy
sheep-like clouds
of tree-whispers
and shooting stars.
spoken
in smile-lined faces
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