Written June 2022, Copenhagen, Denmark
There are moments when time feels like it’s slipping through my fingers, and I am left trying to capture it—to make it stay—but I know better. I know that what’s here now won’t last. And yet, something in the fleeting moments pulls at me, bending the world just enough for me to believe that forever is possible, even if only for a moment. It’s beautiful and horrible at the same time — watching it fade before I’m ready to let go.
I would write you a poem
if I could decipher my feelings,
but they are like hieroglyphs,
so instead,
I just stare at the sky,
and it makes me think of
how Einstein once said
that time slows down
when we’re in movement,
and I want to stop time
when I’m with you,
but you dissolve like mist
in the morning sun,
and I want to peel off
all my skin, layer by layer,
until I stand there,
a new creature made of blue,
and I want you to look
through me,
into the empty spaces
I don’t know how to fill,
and tell me
I’m the most beautiful thing
you’ve ever seen,
and I’m trying to be okay
with the fact
that people fade in and out
of each other’s lives,
but I want you in full HD always,
and how will I ever reconcile
with life’s fleeting nature
when forever trembles
on the edge of my lips,
afraid to dissolve in the now,
and I wish we drifted
in a field of stars,
our bodies melting
into constellations,
and you would take my face
in your hands
and keep me guessing
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