You were so dangerous. There were these walls of fire all around you, but I stepped in, I convinced myself I could put out the flame. And if I couldn't put it out, at least it was engulfing us, together. I was a piece of glass, and in the beginning you took so much care to treat me in that way. I was covered in innocence, and it made you so glad. Was innocence a foreign friend of yours? Was innocence, a mutual feeling we shared, by chance? No. No. It could not have been so. We reached for each other because we craved for what the other had. Or, was that only me? It was my youth in which I was trapped, I had no way to go but to reach for anything that felt like feeling. Something. Feeling something. And now that I am older, I don't believe I reached for love, I believe I jumped for it. I jumped for something that wasn't there. Was it all a lie? I am inclined to believe so now. It was so beautiful. Our little circle of fake love. I sang to you the songs I was embarrassed to tell others I loved. For fear they wouldn't understand. You understand. I know you understood it all. But you other interests in your mind. We time traveled, back to the years of rock 'n roll, and I let you navigate my knowledge to understand those things I was too young to understand. But you took my hours and placed them within your grasp, and you made me mature faster than I was perhaps intended to. Your footprint was destined to become a bruise on my heart. And I'm smart about those things, I knew it was coming, I spoke of it's failure openly. I knew you would be a memory, a memory that is untouchable. I think of you still. I still think of you. I miss our time travels, but I have come to understand I will always be the only pilot of my plane. And I only go forward, while you time travel into the past. But I thank you. I thank you.
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.