She was never ending.

Like the stars, she bled into the night, becoming space, becoming time like the click of my alarm clock falling into midnight. She was the horizon from which the sun and moon rose, she was the edge of the sky and the beginning of the universe. At night I stayed awake to see her...to meet her and let her pour into my soul.

Because I wasn't complete without her.

sky, grunge, and indie image
She was my road leading nowhere

I was nothing in her presence. Just a shadow falling into the light, becoming obsolete in all her glory.

It wasn't love. But it sure felt like it.

If I'm being honest it didn't always feel like I was falling but flying upwards, straight into the sun sometimes. Like a comet shooting outwards, away from us all, blinking into nonexistence. She made me spin away from reality and yet because of her I was never more tethered to the beauty of earth, the world around me. I loved her for that. l loved her.

Past tense. Everything is always past tense with my reason to live. Because she ruined my future and yet still shines bright between my shoulder blades, a past that refuses to be overlooked. Why do I keep glancing over my shoulder? Pretending to comforted by her heat which burns me from the inside out? Because she clings to me like flecks of sunlight during the day, like starlight during the night?

The sun and the moon are unshakable and so is she. She is my everything and my worst nightmare. I love her. I can't live without her. And yet she destroys me, my countdown into oblivion. I can't look away.

So why is it that I cling and I scream and I beg and I pull on her skin like silk, shaking her fragile shoulders so that she can she what she is doing to me...in my dreams? When I awaken, my mouth is sewn shut by awe, eyes wide open, drinking her in as if I would die from thirst without her? She doesn't know I dream about her. And she doesn't care.

Honestly, she never really did.

But beauty is selfish. I see her everyday and she steals my loving gaze like one holds glass in the palm of their hand, careful not to hold it too tightly for she knows I have shattered before; she's afraid to bleed. She does this right before she tosses it aside, holds my very essence in anticipation, in the suspense that maybe this time her eyes will light up with understanding...maybe she'll come to realize that she is my undoing and stop pulling on the thread that ties us together. But she never does.

And I unravel at her feet...to be stared down upon by the girl who is never ending.