A Silly Little Love Poem to Myself. And to You.
I parked my car across from the Blue Vista Motor Lodge.
Thoughts clouded, hands shaking, head
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
I look to them,
Considering the mass of the universe
Everything to ever exist is
Not much more.
On a numerical scale,
Even 8 billion divided by infinity
The grass I lay on, warm
Back pressed to little feathers of emerald, the sunrises
Has no impact on the inevitability of time.
Are the equivalent of cold weather thunderstorms.
Are highly improbable,
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