Sinking Safe
Writing Poems in the Dark
He is the type of person to hold all his cards close to his chest, not knowing you can read them anyway. He doesn't mark his arrival and departure with a postage stamp or airport scene like the others. Instead, he slowly fades away like morning mist, not realising you admire him like a sunrise.
Darling this is what it is to be in love with someone you are not allowed to have. Writing poems in the dark. Head in the clouds while his rests on her shoulder. Holding a pen instead of his hand.
You have locked yourself in a sinking safe and neither of you have the key. I'm sorry you won't have a good view of his smile as the water fills up your lungs, but at least the sky's tears look similar to his eyes.
He is the type of person who will keep trying to love her, even if he is not in love with her. And what is a sunrise, if not someone who arrives every morning, even if nobody stops to appreciate them?
He cannot love you, even if he is sinking too... in the familiarity and habit of her.
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I First Saw Him
When I first saw him sitting on the wall, relaxed and looking out over the water, I was sure he wasn't a local. Not including children, there are only about 250 or 300 of us in this area full-time, though that number is ten-fold in the summer, and I know everyone at least by sight or by family resemblance. And yet, the way he sat looked familiar and started my mind sorting and discarding among the families I knew, not quite like this one, not quite like that one.
By Natalie Wilkinson7 days ago in Fiction
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