gravitational consistencies & me
there are brand marks seared beneath my eyelids, and they spell out: “tragedy, a travesty. a real tempest, in and of herself.” and i would tell you i wished i hadn’t had the liquor before the vows, but there’s no use in thumbing secrets onto empty altars, is there? what are dewdrops to the tainted? and adonis to the thorns? so fault me for this and nothing more: you whisper of rain clouds. i speak of storms.
this is the collision course. the orbit of the milky way. this is the red string, tied around the tan lines left from the diamond band on your index finger, pulling a ship to harbor.
so the next time you think of us: look at the sky. spill tears over the inevitability of me. our catastrophe made to be. when you come to learn that this is what’s etched in the stars, just know that i’m pleased. and sincerely, in due time, i hope you learn to set yourself free.