but bamarre was just a dream

what i most wanted that christmas was a tree house.
but not a tree house-
a you and me house.

you told me you would climb branches and swing from vines
and build me any tree house under the sun so long as
i would marry you in the spring-

but i am impermanence personified and i cannot
commit to commit suicide,
even if it were in a tree house in spring.

-

so pull out your crayons boy
and start colouring in your white white world,
filled with holes and "what if"s.

remind the sun it shines gold, not yellow
and the grass is emerald and not green-
and your eyes are sapphire sapphire sapphire,
and never ever will be blue.

[you used to write me love notes on the
purple post-it notes on our kitchen counter-
but when your red red pen ran out,
you ran out too.]

so pick up your pencil and write your own
fucking fairytale ending because i can't write
your lullabies anymore-
not with blunt pencils and no hands to hold.

-

when she was five she used to draw letters
on the backs of my hands and make me
guess which ones she chose,
just to test that i was feeling her
and not just the wind on the back of my neck.

she used to scream words at me from underwater
and make me guess what she was trying to tell me,
but she sounded like she was speaking latin
and i am mono-lingual at best,
and we were never meant to last forever-

but we were, for that short short time,
the two princesses of bamarre;
ending up as fairies and living
out-of-sync-but-in-time.

[i'll love you forever, little fish.]

-

so stop telling the signs to
tell me to run away from water and
to live in the trees boy,
you tell me with your eyes.