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A Silly Little Love Poem to Myself. And to You.

  • mclaspires
  • Apr 24, 2023
  • 1 min read

Last night,


I parked my car across from the Blue Vista Motor Lodge.


Thoughts clouded, hands shaking, head


In shambles.


The trees opened their arms to welcome me home.


I turned off my headlights,


The orb in the sky is large and bright


Enough to feed a thousand hungry moths.


Flying in the darkness, they swirl above


My head, swirling


Swirling


Gone.


I look to them,


Considering the mass of the universe


Everything to ever exist is


Empty space.


Not much more.


On a numerical scale,


Even 8 billion divided by infinity


Is zero.


We


Are zero.


I am.


The grass I lay on, warm


Back pressed to little feathers of emerald, the sunrises


Of spring,


Has no impact on the inevitability of time.


You


Are the equivalent of cold weather thunderstorms.


Mathematically, you


Are highly improbable,


Impossible.


Hazel eyes in a beige universe.


A flame on top of Mt. Everest.


We do not exist


In 13.8 billion.


Not for long enough


To matter, anyways.


The chance of you and I


Ever coming into commencement within ourself


Is comparable to no other.


A molecule within a vacuum.


You are a singular breath out of the lungs


of a distance runner


 
 
 

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