Mundane

 I know you’re looking into the grayscale clouds of our past again, where our memories are tinged with both joy and sorrow.

That tear-stained misery illuminates your face as reality bleeds through your water-coloured delusions.

 I can almost hear your laughter at the memory of my erratic space talk, those whimsical conversations we used to have about the universe, yet another sound of your inability to let me go.

 I always admired the way in which you were able to paint portraits of fiction beautifully, but not this time.

 Does this hurt, having the truth spelt into your skyline?

Or, to you, is it a sign that I will come back?

You’re lost against the canvas of denial, trapped between colours of love that stay unrequited, my dear.

You have to let me go.

I promised you years ago that our souls were connected through a deep, spirited desire, like a thread that could never be broken, to never separate. I know, but the bow around us is cut, and you have to let it fall.

 The sky has printed all the patterns I know you would love, from the gentle swirls of pastel purples to the bold strokes of vibrant blues. Go watch as they form, a symphony of colors. Fly through the changes, travel out of the past.

Please.

You cannot trap me in this realm of mundane despair any longer.

I’m not coming back.

I promise.

A fundamental promise this time.

Indeed, our story is over.

 If it were me in front of the easel, having to sketch my pain at the realisation that you had gone, I would draw you as a rocket, soaring through your favourite colours to find yourself and move on. I would want you to land on a moon full of possibility, so why do you draw me as a star, destined to serve your fiction tales as you sulk over the past?

 I’m not coming back.

 I promised you then, but I swear to you now.

 This storybook is a galaxy of burning poetry.

Let it crumble.

 You’re sitting alone on our swingset, muffled sobs breaking through bittersweet laughter. Your hands are curled against my chains, just as you used to.

Except it’s not like before because I’m not there. There’s no warm hand to shelter yours from the night breeze, no cheery jokes to fill the silence.

There is only you. Forever frozen.

 Because our tale isn’t a rocket, and you can’t force me to land.