Ruquayyah ♡𝜗ৎ

To my dearest Janessa,

As the hours stretch into a neverending gray blur, like a sleeping city’s nightscapes watched from a speeding machine, will you confess that your sober days wink but a shade of a lady’s palette?

If you can smile while every second upon second is washed out in some morally fibered murk, can you admit your misconception?

How many evenings have you squinched your eyes shut tight enough to grind your nostalgic filth to powder, yet when strummings creep up along your spine, you grimace at the tickle of forgotten fingertips?

If you’d only allow your mind to be inescapably free and, as a consequence, positively eventual of me, your pillows would not stain with the dirt of a daydream. Dead leaves would not choke at the storm drains of your ghettos.

Even if I could promise you that the patina in the corners of your head was not of your making, I could also promise it would last your lifetime on your watch. That is why I know that beyond those nightly meals made of sweat sheens and bated breath, I must be welcomed to medley the blight of discipline in your life.

Lovely Janessa, please understand that you are a weathered autumn leaf plunging blindly into some kind of death. If I could ask one last thing, it’d be that for only a moment you did not fall, that you held fast to that last gust and let your knees into the mud you sully.

Remember that before you were rubbing blush into your cheeks, it was dirt you smeared about them.

Today, you chase camellia sunsets and the beaches beneath, but yesterday, wet twigs and soiled worms in gray puddles were your hunt.

Don’t you see that just as sugar plums and candy canes were once your treat, now, and forever, the unbearable and delicious itch budding within your lap is similarly sweet?

Likely that by now you have relaxed your eyes. If you care to open them, you might see that though your mud remains unclear, it runs blue and shimmers beneath the sun.