You promised me galaxies, My Love. You promised to cradle my head to your chest, to hold my outstretched arms, While the sunlight danced between our fingertips, Sparking upwards towards its cloud-laden home: The home which you promised me.
They say dreams are for children, So call me a child. But know that I was made a child by you, My Love. The pupils of my eyes did dilate and fill With the Milky Way of your beauty.
You took me, not by the hand but by the heart, And showed me all of your constellations While I charted them In the skies you promised to take me to.
So why am I laying in the grass alone Staring up into you? Why am I laying on the Earth alone Bathed in only the shadows of your moonlight.
You loved all of my labors, But would not labor to love me. For who would pick a star from the dust When there are 100 billion awaiting in the dusk.
It’s been four months now. Four months since you left us. Four months since I last saw your face or stroked your neck. Somehow, it feels as if I saw you yesterday. Somehow, it feels as if you were just a dream. I know you can’t hear this, but I have to say it anyways. I have to say everything I never got the chance to tell you.
I remember the first time I heard your name. I remember how ridiculous it sounded to me, and how distraught I was that Maren picked you over the pretty paint horse I had seen. Taco, what a ridiculous name. A horse should be named something beautiful and regal, not after some food. This was the extent to which my five-year-old self considered your arrival into my life.
She was beautiful in all of the usual ways. She had wide eyes that reflected the depths of the ocean and the heights of the sky, so when others gazed upon them they thought that they could fly. She had hair that blazed like fire, like meteors in the dark, so that for a moment you could almost believe she was the sun within the night. She had a perfect face, strong and lacking lines, the face of an angel untouched by the bounds of time. When she smiled, her teeth shone like freshly fallen snow and the frosty winter-wind that blows on for miles. She had skin that was unmarred by life and its hardships; with the smoothness of a baby yet to draw its first breath, cradled in the arms of kin. Her hands were subtle and gentle, quiet in her lap and steady in their motions, unperturbed and without muddling. She had long legs that put her head above those around her so that they were constantly looking up to her in all of her heavenly glory.