the space above my ears.

Of Empty Rooms and Nonchalance

For me, it was always the cold sunrises that felt right.

The record shops and bookstores never looked more like sanctuaries than they did on those mornings.

Bathed in light, but not enough to warm the inside.

Come here, Destiny.

Come sit beside me, let me tell you about me and the veterans of the obscure war.

Let me paint myself heroically in your head so that you will stay with me when conflicts arise again.

Believe that I will save you.

I may be a paragon example of why you should never believe the hype, but please, believe it just enough to look at me with more than pity.

When it is all over and the ink has run out, we'll haul the angels out of the Pacific Ocean until our heads hurt from counting all the broken wings.

We can pretend I didn't fall on my sword.

We can go back home for hot chocolate.

I'll read you the one about the porcelain rabbit.

When you leave, I'll stand at the window and watch you disappear into the emerald fog.

I think about all of the ways you're just misunderstood.

And then the villain comes back.

His breath smells like antifreeze.

I learn that this is the last time I will ever see you.

It's alright, I understand.

Under the scrutinizing glare of my mother's disapproval, I will try to explain why you left before dinner.

I will be in my bedroom a million feet under the frozen Earth, staring at the trigonometry homework I cannot solve.

I have already forgotten you, but I still feel a piece missing.

My body feels too far away.

The minutes tick by and I am sitting on a bench outside the convenience store, watching the technicolor leaves drift down and kiss the yellowing grass.

On the back of every one is another condescending Bible verse.

Missing you has given me a migraine and I wonder distantly if some are predisposed to be broken.

If that be the truth, then it was the mold that was shattered.

Not you.