"What melody will see him in my arms again?"

[sll]

My head rests against the wall, and the window two inches next to me lets wind in like bats in attack. I look at the reflections the sun shapes, butterflies of light. You've seen them many times as patterns of leaves danced around our shadows. All I want to do is rest in pillows, sheets, and watch the direction of the sky. I feel clean, crisp, the closest Ive been to delicate. Now I await the melody of your voice to creep in, but I might have to end up imagining it. The worst thing to do would be to wait too long for the dates to wither, turning from pale green to piercing red. Inside, my soul grows older. How is this possible? My heart unable to absorb the colors around me. This is what I have to keep reminding myself of. That maybe the way you fidget with your skin-stretched fingers could brighten me. Because as I sit here now, it becomes harder to recognize the difference between me and my shadow. I could barely feel cotton's touch and whats worse is that I know I can and can't at the same time. Perhaps I should just stop thinking about worse things. They tug at my heart, but maybe that's the only way I know it is there...