This Carousel

I fell in love under glow-in-the-dark stars plastered to my cousin’s ceiling. Her walls were light blue but the ceiling was dark and covered in constellations. I remember holding your hand and smoking cigarettes and kissing until my lips hurt. The stars and smoke and your hot breath on my neck.

You fell in love a few years later while we sat on a beach 3000 miles from where we started. On the sand, your fingers twined with mine, you fell knowing that this moment would blink out, flicker, and die in a matter of days, but you fell anyway just like I did staring up at those fake stars only days before you left the first time.

We fell in love so long ago and we both thought it was over as we plucked out messages and emails and friend requests and blocked sites. But then it wasn’t. You heard my tears just like I heard your voice turn soft and deep, that tone that meant you were feeling,scared but feeling, the way you sounded so long ago. And I knew it would be different this time, that you would find courage to tell me you love me anyway, even though things aren’t the way we’d hoped, but I was wrong because you ran.

And now we are on a carousel in a floating circus and I can never catch you because my horse is tied down and your’s won’t turn around so we’re trapped in memories of sand and imaginary constellations that we will never catch. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop fighting.




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