Something about static

It's there, I'm here, you're there, we're where it is.

Gyrate, circulate, extrapolate and almost in an instant, find direction.

Could it be that you were going in circles but moving forward?

You were moving, moving, moving. Emphatically. Eyes shut.

Your head bobbed with the rhythm of the track. It felt so right.

We stepped forward, onward. Walked right past it.

Felt it coursing through our veins, reaching out from our skin.

It hurts to touch you, static.

Buzzing, beaming, interrupting. It hurts to love you, static.

But you're life. Living, motile. Existent. Not all there, but wherever you need to be.

Uncertain, destructive, painful steps. Each footprint will last a lifetime. I will know where you went and you will know where you burned.

In my mind, in the sky, in my heart, riding the wind.

I can hear your voice, vain and clamoring. But I cannot make out what you speak. It is not a language I know; not one I could ever learn.

Erratic on occasion, spontaneous, jolting forth and making your will fact.

As you gently fall from the sky, like a rigid feather, so too follows your voice, your meaning.

I saw you that day, among the daisies, lilies, lilacs, violets. Your dichromatic eyes were mesmerizing, your voice enamored in cause and timidity. Your cheeks were red, and you skipped away with a smile, bouncing from exploding star to exploding star. Your supernova trail left me heartbroken, awestruck, confused. In your flowing hair, the universe trailed behind. Planets, stars, specs, glitter and glamor splashed upon the darkness surrounding you.

The full moon set that night and never rose again.