miniscule steps push me forward, and all the while i find myself sprinting backward towards the blue. belonged and ours. the blink of an eye, stale driftings force themselves between us. farther than primary colors and their embracing reflections. farther even than missing you and remembering the cold of my toes against sandy sidewalk blues. orange dawnings, care bears and always going barefoot in the grass. scaring myself in the dark and whenever you let me climb into the top bunk next to you. the warmth is what i miss of the sun most times. wishful thinking is enduring the cold for yours, to cultivate itself someday with the truth.
