“For the British Boy With Blue Eyes Who Thinks I Only Know How to Write About Grey Things”

December sky,
sweaters hugging our shoulders,
ocean birds,
and running
from cold water
that chased our toes
like five year olds
playing tag.

Deep breaths to taste the salt
in the air; gasping, dancing,
spinning off every piece of our lives
that made our lungs feel heavy,
as easy as shaking off the sand
from our jeans.

Disappeared just so we could
let go
of all the things we didn’t want to have to come home to.

The camera flashed,
figures that were shaken onto film;
one shot to make it right
and asking God to let this
be the life I live:
a little yellow polaroid
and white framed photos
that fit in our pink palms,
one chance
to catch a sliver of golden lighting,
the messy fading of color,
a moment in all of its
flawed and fleeting stillness,
and being able to smile
at whatever shows up
on the blank, white space.

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2 thoughts on ““For the British Boy With Blue Eyes Who Thinks I Only Know How to Write About Grey Things”

    • Funny story actually: it’s a friend of mine from school. We’ve been writing partners in our writing courses over the past three semesters, and he’s been convinced that I only know how to write sad poems or stories with sad endings. So this semester, in our poetry class, he challenged me the first day to write something happy! Thus, this poem!! 🙂 I’m glad you enjoyed it! Thank you!

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