Next Page Ink

Long has it been since I’d last 

spoken, seen, and thought of you. 

I can say the same about the 

salts, the sips, and the times when 

my eyes burned as we 

smiled into the sky, searching for 

someone, something 

to save us. 

​

It’s a coincidence that we meet within 

this solitary room like we used to. 

​

Do you recall when we followed– 

studied–the spinning of the ceiling fan? 

​

Do you still wish to fly? 

​

To have that feeling of 

foreign sensation of warmth 

absent beneath your toes? 

​

Because as I grew up, I 

outgrew those mirages in the dark and 

gave up on calling for saviors. 

​

So forgive me for not wanting to fly– 

the steady carpet beneath my feet feels 

just fine nowadays.