The world did not end the day we burned like forest fires, our hands running rampant over mountainous goosebumps and wildflower veins. The earth did not shudder when we did, our backs rippling with aching gasps and subtle tremors, our shoulders shaking with regret. The moments we spent together were not cataclysmic, apocalyptic, or in any way a seizure to the soil we have so graciously lived upon for so long, but to us, the moments we spent together were so sacred, so fragile, so delicate that when they ended, the earth itself could’ve collapsed in sorrow and still would not feel as tragic as it felt to lose you.
Perhaps, we will find each other again just as lightning does when it chooses to kiss the earth.
Perhaps, we will always be lost to each other, two messaged bottles drifting amongst an unending sea.
(Either way, I will never forget how softly you kissed me, like a moth’s wings before a soft and engulfing flame.)