my eclipse

the skies swim past us, unfamiliar tug on my heartstrings as my eyes begin to brim with the unshed tears from my seven year old self. tuck a tendril of my curl behind my ear as I recall standing in the mirror at the age of nine, straightening the curl down my forehead so i’d look less like mine. it’ll never get old, our spirits lit aflame, alive past our bedtimes and we tend to arise when the sun sets and never shines; and I tend to call the eclipse my home but she comes home every two years or so. and it gets cold when the sweat down my back catches a chill and I can feel her crawling through my skin and by then; i’m usually filled with anguish to the brim and there she is again, facilitating an appearance like we’re still ten and the tears don’t ever just pause, they seem to run their course like fast cars and Nascars will never win this race against her. there she is again, in the mirror. paint sweet nothings and whisper sweet lies that always lull my child-like cries to sleep. candles lit aflame and a shadow in the light tells me to follow a heart that I never knew was mine.