I felt beautiful but also interrupted. I wasn't used to being so complicated.
It's all I ever really wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars.
Whenever she turned her steep focus to me, I felt the warmth that flowers must feel when they bloom through the snow, under the first concentrated rays of the sun.
Poppies bleed petals of sheer excess. You and I, this sweet battle ground.
They say drugs are not the answer, but really, what is the question?
The nearest I'd come to feeling anything like God was the plan blue cloudless sky and a certain silence, but how do you pray to that?