My One Wish Was For You

Wendelin Jacober
Wendelin Jacober

Burnt brown grass crumbles to ashes beneath your weight.

You lie down under the bridge and stretch, then gaze at me with your eyes the color of mountains covered by shroud.

“Our cement world lies on metal pillars,” you say, and I agree, but what you fail to see is that Mount Everest and the Mariana Trench and the Seven Wonders of the World boil down to me right here with you.

Midnight strokes us with its velvety wings. The stars toss their fiery manes and gallop across the sky, leaving streaks of light across the atmosphere.

“Make a wish,” you say. I look at your fingers inch closer to me and close my eyes.

“I wish for you,” I breathe out softly. The sound is almost inaudible over the cars speeding past above us, zooming to their destinations, telling me that our time is ticking away.

When your hand touches mine, my eyes open.

The clouds have gathered above us, and the stars have gone out, but I can still see the fireworks between you and I, letting us know that we fit together so perfectly, so perfectly.

I want to tell you never to leave, but your lips are already on mine and I’m on fire, burning down to nothing just like the ground beneath us, and the heavens above us, and the words I’d like to say. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

i write sometimes and by sometimes i mean all the time

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