She Began With Sand

She began with sand and ended with it too, though she was certain both were clouds simply roughened by rain and false expectations. In the meat of it all, she was sempiternal felicity panicking between the ticks of the clock as she treaded with the weight of her thoughts on your amygdala. You're still recovering from the forts, still bleeding from the picnics, and death takes the form of a kite on your doorstep. Sometimes it helps to rest on the little things and shut away the others, to crawl inside the incipient spaces you didn't have a chance to share. You always seemed to be the quiet one, until things slipped. She didn't sing with the same ferocity after you yelled and sobbed and begged her to come to the sidewalk (You cannot dodge cars and they cannot dodge you!) or step down from her perch (I know you're a bird, but the street doesn't. Don't do this to me; please.), but she would smile back at you and lilt her way home. She lived in petrichor and what-ifs, slept with bane more than with you. You planted her past in the sea because she stopped smiling, so you harmonized the end, helped her bathe in stinging salt to heal the cracks you inflicted upon each other with your passionate cries for sanity you always knew you deserved and you always knew she "deserved" until the point of no return. Her joy ebbed in tidal waves bigger than the sky, bigger than her foothold in the sand.
Some evenings you swear the sun never sets.

Author's Note

Reviews would be lovely. Thank you. (:

Reviews

[Davidgeo]

I think editing this with the phrase "word economy" in mind would help tremendously.