Somewhere in the Sky

We were cats and birds and we used to go into the sky and scrape the undersides of clouds that floated by seamlessly, endlessly, and it was that: endless, that is. Everything reached on forever and the clouds would billow up white and creamy and we'd just brush past on our wings; we were glided by the winds and the rays of light. And they'd all brush by, and they'd all fall apart at our touch, and they'd all fall apart and move away inch by inch into that endless teal.

The first few days were like liquid crystal melting over and over on the side of the shore; the sand would sparkle back at everything and it felt like i was some amusement in some crazy circus during the 17th century. The sky would be the fabric that was draped over my small holding cell, and it felt like that, some black piece of fabric over my head, closing me in and keeping me safe, or keeping me imprisoned. And the sun would be the little hole at the end, so I'd want to run into the sun and split it's golden membrane, let all the juices flow out of it and onto me. I'd want to run in it, swim in it and break free into the infinity of life.

I would watch it wash past my feet and they'd glow faintly underneath. Everything seemed like that, even the touch of her skin against mine. It all came back to it, it was as if I was putting my skin in liquid flames, in crimson paint that came with it's emotion, that came with it's own texture and feeling and temperature degree. I knew that it fit too well, it always fits too well and bursts out screaming like that. Each little brush a bombshell of goose-bumps breaking out along the pains of my arms. But the sun, the sun felt the same, it would always feel the same, because it was everything, all feeling that was around. that's how I knew it as, at least. It was the warm, warm sand and it was it's feeling too, for making it warm, for making its shape with it's glitter.

I never knew how to fly until then, but then I knew it; it was the crisp in the air, the way it crinkled and shrink-wrapped your face, the wind and how it held you in place. It swirled like white wisps of cloud, and touched like spring water. Little tear drops from God floating in the air (and if they are tears, I hope that we keep making him cry, whether good or bad, so that the skies would water up like a newborn baby.) Just like that her face in the little, floating rain, just a flash and the way the light bounced off. We were in the fog, stuck in the thick fog and the ground felt cool like water.

I knew she'd never hear it, but still.