Endless Glittering Sky

She loved 

the way the

stars would dance when she

squinted, 

giggling at the shift of

the light. 

The things I would do for her laugh. 

While other girls

would smile at me,

when really they wanted to scream,

she never hid what

she felt. 

She loved

my dimples, 

loved to dip her fingers

in those pots of skin

and marvel at the color

my cheeks turned.

She knew every way to make me blush.

When I was sad,

my lips turned downward in misery,

she only had

to hold me,

to see those dimples again.

She loved

watching the rain drip down the windows

running her finger through

cold, misted glass

to create designs of all kinds

that would eventually be wiped away.

Commitment wasn't her strong suit. 

To draw without

being reserved to one page, one pen

endless windows and 

endless stories to scribe

upon the wet mirror. 

She loved

driving with the windows down

hair curled around the headrest

no limits

laughing with 

one hand on the steel door. 

I never could go as fast as her.

Pushing the dial

until it broke,

brushing the lips of death

was her hobby,

I brought the car to a full and complete stop. 

She loved

plastic flowers in vases

beauty that would never wilt

while she smelled the roses on the bush

outside, caressing the petals

like my hand.

How could she love the living and the dead?

I bought her bouquets

of daises, sunflowers, poppies

and forget-me-nots

thinking she'd love the scent

but, inevitably, they were found in the trash.

She loved

being alive

and marveled at what 

she did not understand,

rather than examine it

under the fine glass. 

I loved her. 

I loved and loved her until that was all I had,

but she had so much more

in the stars and the dimples and the rain and the car and the flowers,

thousands of things that she loved

instead of me.