paper tug boats, glass sea

to my best friend, upon us growing up, and growing apart.

I’m walking on a sea of glass, the pink and grey and orange sky stretching out above my head.  I’m treading lightly so as not to break the sweet thing we have.

You’re miles and miles and miles away, up so high on the seventeenth story of the city towers but I’m imagining you just like you were right here.  I’m smelling the smell of your hair and remembering the last time I buried my face in it and just appreciated your presence.


I’m pulling paper tug boats across the porcelain waters.  It’s a long way that we’re going, and the way we’re going isn’t bringing me any closer to you but that’s okay.  That’s just the direction I have to go.  Your wind pushes you in an opposite direction, my motors chugging down a different path. 


But it doesn’t really matter how lightly I tread because I know the glass is getting thinner and thinner as I go on.


I’m afraid one day it will be too thin altogether but I have to keep going and you’re called to the city that never rests so what can I do?  This is just the way things are going and I can’t really change that, no matter how long I muse and watch the clouds and beams of light shining from behind them.


I’m going to keep walking because I have to.


And I just want you to understand that even though you’re not getting any closer and we’re not going back to where we were before, that doesn’t change the fact we used to be there.  It doesn’t change the fact one day I wasn’t at this sea in the first place, that one day we were together and I did bury my face in your hair and just breathe in the scent of you.


And I want you to understand that the way it was then—for both of us—was real.  It was very real, and no fragile oceans and concrete jungles can change the fact we knew each other more unconditionally than anyone has ever known either of us.


I’m walking on this glass sea, and you are back in that man-made utopia, but we’re both still together somewhere in the past.  And so I go on with these origami tug boats and you in the world of sleek metal and shining windows, knowing that the other exists, and thankful for the time we had.


And as I look up and see the pin-prick stars begin to emerge in the hazy sky, I try to hold in my tears but my rib cage aches and I can’t breathe.  Don’t miss me like I miss you, please.  I want to think somehow that knowing we had something once can keep us happy now.  Happiness should find you.  Happiness can and it has to find you, even if it bypasses me.


After all, the pain makes it a little easier not to lose myself on the never ending scope of glass I walk on now.  The tears make it a little easier to know that I can still see and that I’m still going.  And I have to keep going.


The happiness can keep you going, if only you give me all of your sadness.


The moon is up now and I keep walking, silently, one foot in front of the other in front of the other because this is the way that it went and this is the way it’s going.


Be well, please.


I loved you.  And I don’t blame you.


The paper tug boats follow behind me as we continue through the night.

The End

2 comments about this exercise Feed