“do you feel that?” he whispers, his fingers grabbing my elbows towards him. he inhales deeply, and tremble over me as he closed the gap between our chests, his voice shaky, “don’t you feel that?”
“i feel it.” a pain stained tear slipped my eye, rolling down my left cheek. his body sighed. a few moments later, he leaned down so that our noses were touching. “but, we're not meant to be.”
“but you feel it, so let it be. it doesn't have to be that way.” he promises, sounding more like he's trying to convince himself that the little butterfly he captured long ago won't be able to escape.
“i think not, because do you feel everything else? do you feel like you're contained? do you feel the tragedy laced in the air? do you feel scared? do you feel like the butterfly trapped in a cage? do you feel like you should be alone? do you feel all of that?”
he shakes his head, softly. “i used to, but no, not with you. now tell me, do you feel that shock when my hand touches your skin, or how our hands fit when they hold? do you feel that slight firefly buzz in the air when we're together, or is it just me?”
YOU ARE READING
vertigo; #wattys2018
Poetrythis is for you; i don't shout my poetry off rooftops anymore because i think the world heard me it's been four years since i began writing this book on scraps of paper and receipts so go ahead; read me [lower case intended] [tw for some] [all writ...
