The Sun

Picture taken in Nashville, Tennessee. Written in Nashville, Tennessee.

I keep telling myself it's okay to look this time

But everyone knows that the core of the earth is too hot for survival

And all of us who put our cores into things know that to be true.

There's certain shades of gold that blind you, kind of like his eyes

The shine too much to handle

Because you know that is a direct reflection of the sun

And you know the sun gives life to all these things, but fuck.

I just got used to being my own sun.

It is only light and not loneliness what I see that shade of gold elsewhere.

And there's that timing of that moment of the day

Where biology recognizes it wasn't death this time around.

You see him not dead either

And he only looked at you this way because he thought you weren't looking

Fuck. I probably couldn't stop myself if I tried. Fuck.

I like the word fuck because it's only used in moments of passion

but he doesn't need the word fuck because he bleeds passion in every step he takes

And it reminds you of all the far away places you should probably run to.

Fuck you brown eyes. I love you brown eyes.

Poetic thoughts are torture when he's even more poetic than you

and you take the safe route of assuming his poetry is dedicated to history because humans that big are revolved around history because history made them want to be big.

All this art and I still don't know how to approach history.

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