Melancholy

Your hair is winter fire, January embers; my heart burns there too. I look at my own, dull and brown, and know that I could never compare to you. And yet I am a marathon runner pacing myself for the ride. I am hoping one day I will wake up and you will be by my desolate side. Your green eyes are alight with wonder of things unknown to me. The trees, the whispers, the flavors; you are everything I see. You are a sweet bite of apple pie, that vanilla ice-cream scoop. I circle quietly with smoke filled eyes, but still I find no loop. For I am blind; yet a composer of rights. You are a boxer, but you somehow dance on rings of light. Trace the pulse, the beat of our screaming hearts. Stray cats and flowery, perfumed false starts. You belong in my arms, deep in the aqua gemmed sea. You belong with the person I so wish I could be. Yet I glance longingly again at that fire red hair. And though it’s all around me, I can’t seem to find any air. But we are not meant to be; neither here nor now. I have always thought it, but it materializes now when I say it aloud. I long to stay forever, and promise you things that only lovers do. But since they are promises I will not keep, I will attempt to remain true. These words spilled out of me, and I wonder now if they are something I will rue. But now I bid you a goodbye from this landlocked soul to ocean eyed, vivid you.