(a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it?)
the streetlights flare like stars from where you stand on the dirt road just outside town. the windows are lit.
it is beautiful in the way that you like things to be beautiful, which means that they are just a little bit broken.
it has not looked like a place you can love in a very long time.
the sunset is the kind of rich that watercolours crave, and the trees are dark against it.
sometimes, you realize that leaving this place will break your heart.
you have known that staying here will kill you for a very long time.
it is human in the soft warm light from out here.
nothing looks human from the inside, does it?
perhaps this says something about you.
perhaps this says something about me.
perhaps this says something about a first-person poem written in the second person.
but mostly, it just says something about the way the clouds refuse to be seen in how they are beautiful tonight and the shadows streetlights cast.
when i was a little girl, my mother told me that if you thread your needle long, you will live far away from your mother someday.
the meter of thread i pull behind me knots too easily.
the lights in the harbour are rising, and i have never seen the sea.
the lights in the harbour are rising, and i am practicing a goodbye that will not come for a very long time.
