I watched you
as if you were magic,
your body made
from gold and stardust
carved from ruins
of ancient civilizations.
The way your throat moved
as you laughed,
your skin tensing
with your muscles.
I used to stare at you
like you were an illusion
sent to trick me.
Your existence–
pure fascination,
astonishment gripping
my already tangled heart.
You are glass,
frozen in perpetual memory,
a timelessness known only
to immortals and gods.
My fingers stretch
to reach the you I see there,
in the pictures,
in my dreams,
the you
trapped in the stasis
of ancient memory.
Who are you
now that you are no longer
that golden-skinned boy
waiting at a gas station
for the girl he just might love?
Do you still smell like
soap and
sweat and
the ocean,
as if you somehow
carry saltwater in your veins?
Is he–
that version of you
I carry with me–
hidden inside the stranger
in front of me?
Are you still magic?


2 thoughts on “Magic

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