Mythopoeia

We do not measure time in minutes, we, instead, watch it fly by in brush strokes of kisses, of our own entangled wishes, and in the sweet reminiscence of the moments we've stolen from beneath fate's feet. I do not measure time in minutes, I, instead, see it in the million hues I would paint you, hear it in my desire to play with the fire of the black and white keys of your endless depth. However dire future might be, all we have is now. And you do not measure time in minutes, but in heartbeats and atoms and sour apples and the twisted wonders that stand between us, counting down, ticking away, one  by 

With you I am aware of my own skin and of yours. I am awake as we blur the boundaries between universes, stars and atoms. Awake as the first time I saw you for who you were, as the night you chose to catch me instead of letting me fall. As the first real flake of snow of the year I am flying. Into love. Inside love. In love. With you.

Maybe we feared the depth instead.

It's been years. I don't live here anymore. My parents, they still do, though. Dad is still a milkman, he loves it, and mom still makes costumes for the school plays and the small theatre they founded a few years back. I visit them every so often, they seem happy. New York, where I live now, is completely different from this town. 'What do you do there all day, in New York?' Betty Lou asks. We're sitting on her front porch, which is something, considering that when I met her she had not left her house for nine years. I'm in town for the summer, visiting everyone. 'I drive a silver lunch truck. You know, the kind that you see in the movies

There are butterflies that live out their entire lives in a day. There are those that use their wings to fly far away. Do you believe in butterflies or do you believe that life is really real? Really impossible? I will repeat your name to myself three times as a charm. Once for comfort, twice for love, and a third time for luck. There are people that live inside the box. There are those that live outside of it. There are those that live without. And then there are people that live on the edge - on the edge of a roof, on the edge of a knife - constantly at risk of falling. I noticed your shoulder blades outlined through t