By Viviana Sanchez, TIWP Student

You’re sweet as cotton candy and deep as the pacific.

Your as intricate as mushroom roots 

and because of that you’re wise.

So that’s why I think you’re telling the truth.

That’s why, when you told me up on the roof, you’d figured it out, I believed you. 

You did find it.

Well, maybe you’ve found it

The truth the world whispers, I mean,

the reason why we make time move,

the purpose that poppy’s prescribe themselves while blooming.

I think you’ve found that.

You think it’s in the stars,

the whimsical circulation of life around fire in our lives and universe. 

You think it’s feeling like falling from psyche to sky,

Like mixed emotions scaling from methodical pavement movements to the unexplainable mystery of a dark house.

The stars are always there,

Burning and self consuming,

Constantly fueled and endlessly distant,

Just like humanity. 

We crave life and future as we devour ourself to extinction.

Movement itself is an endless mantra of mind to body and in it you are some illusion of time and importance,

with one hand on the ground and the other in the sky.

A mercurial consideration in a constellation of existence.

You have found that truth, I think.

You work to learn more, you strive to unravel it fully every midnight under the Milky Way.

You love the stars and I love you loving them.

You tell me you have no hope for the future

and I ask you that if you go, 

who will help me unwrap the solar systems meanings?

I roll in the grass to face you and bombard you with questions 

like who else will explore the teetering floodgates of mental capacity with me? 

Who will I laugh with? 

You will I exchange glances and smiles with from across a quiet class? 

I know it is selfish to make you stay when I would leave.

But I can’t risk losing you and never finding someone like you.

You don’t get it. 

You don’t understand me or this or us. 

And I get that.

And I don’t blame you.

I just wish you would let me keep hugging you.

And I wish we could just keep picking poppies,

in a world where sun never rises yet it is never really dark, 

until the universe collapses in on itself 

like scientists think it will do in billions of years.

That would be the dream.

Just us and no hatred or lies and no truths that make your hands shake or turn my eyes turn pitiful.

Heaven, I laugh to myself.

So dumb and childish like a crayon drawing of blue skies and green grass on the fridge.

A world where we don’t act like real people. 

But right now and

for the rest of eternity 

I can’t be there. 

It’s an impossibility. 

So we just watch the stars 

and listen to the earth whisper deafly

and we try not to think too hard about the meaning of our soul deep friendship for the moment.