as they say
you’d be disappointed to learn that if
you traced the veins on my wrist,
they wouldn’t lead you to flowers.
but it’s alright. it would take you
long enough to decode
the twists and turns of my vessels
that even if you did reach the end,
they would all be wilted.
sometimes i look at seeds with envy.
you’d be disappointed to learn that if
you traced the skin on my back,
there would be no wings.
but please don’t worry. maybe
we were just never meant to fly,
just meant to dream of puffy white clouds
fresh air
and the prospect of a never ending sky.
sometimes the stars seem out of reach.
you’d be disappointed to learn that if
you traced the chair of where i once was
it wouldn’t be warm.
not a single impression
of 4 years of trying
yet settling for “good enough”.
but i guess it’s okay.
one night you’ll search up my name
on the last social media site that
i posted on two years ago;
see the profile picture
i updated three years past
and perhaps you’ll wonder
“where did she go?”
i’ll be another face, a distant memory
of someone that you may have passed one day
on the way to school, or work, or the rest of your life.
we will disperse, the river will diverge
and at the end of the day,
i’ll be rowing towards a garden
said to be filled with flowers; with seeds;
with wings; with stars
you won’t be disappointed on the day that we
pass each other on the street.
a distant memory, a “hey, have i seen her face before?”
but no more.
fleeting and transcending,
your dictionary fell into the river.