Saturday, December 31, 2011
the next twelve months
dear peter, i've never seen the sky more beautiful. i want to soar off this porch and glide into the horizon, evaporate into thin air, right where the blue meets the pink, right where you and i were once born. there's only a few hours left of the last twelve months. i haven't seen your face once, barely heard your voice, but i've loved you without hesitation through the falling snow, and the emerging summer, the blazing sun and the wild waves, and the devastating heartbreaks. i've loved you through all of this, i'll love you through all that is yet to happen. tonight you're a world away, but to me you are much closer than any of the people who are sat right by me here at the table. i wish you were here, or i wish i was there. i look at the heart shaped tree in my garden and i imagine that that's what my heart looks like. i am starved for you. my fingers are barely feeling. i wonder how the next twelve months will play with us, whether they will bring us together, or tear us further apart, but i pray that they will let us meet. i wish you everything. blinding beauty and sadness that teaches you how to love stronger, inspiring skylines and waves made of wise whispers. love, and snow, and raindrops, and breaking speed limits just to turn the breeze into the wind, so the letters your heart writes to those you love are sent faster. i know that i may not be the one you choose, and i know that we cannot choose who we love, but i also know that my heart will protect you forever. my fingers bleed for you, and all my words ache for your eyes. i write love letters to you even in my sleep. you're the reason i'm still breathing. you're the straw that doesn't kill me. i listen to the radio downstairs and to me those words are empty. the lyrics all profess a new year that will be happy and great but i never understood how twelve months that never happened can be glorified. i don't know why i've always found windowsills so comforting. i crawl up on them as if i were a cat and i stare into the sky, making out the distant lights as stars, and i blow wishes into the night. i wish the whole world was a metaphor, so i could find it endlessly beautiful and revealing, so it could feed me everyday, so i wouldn't be so afraid to live. i love feeling hidden, i love protecting myself from the outside world with curtains, or darkness, or closed doors, so i can dream. dreaming feeds me so much more than living does. i wear a promise on my finger, i believe that in a way it keeps you always by my heart, where i can guard you when you're sleeping. dear peter, i don't know what the next twelve months will bring, but i only hope they bring me to you. dear peter, please know that you are the most beautiful boy i have ever known, and that to me your every breathe is a story in itself. dear peter, may the next twelve months guard you with their wings.