Writing

lying down on the rocky ground of western Colorado

and looking up at what the vast darkness of the unknown has granted us tonight

an ache fills my lungs as my eyes take in the beauty of the millions of lights dotting the sky

I stare out into the blues and greens of the Atlantic,

My fingers press into the sand as I sit in silence

I feel time pass slowly, an ache that eats at my soul,

And I realize there isn't much left of summer

Wishes are a funny thing,

they are a thread of hope that pulls until it hits the next stitch,

the next wish,

I can't say I'm not one the fools who try,

I wish on everything I can find.

i could describe my father in one word 
brickwall.  

Petals, once brilliant,

now a bruised, crimson stain.

A wilting sigh,

a silent scream,

a last breath.

Decay's slow dance,

The swirling, hazy perspective on a long summer's day. The feeling as if time has halted. Expansive blue sky dotted with lazy clouds, watched from patches of warm, tickling grass. The swish of clothing, movement.