Send You A Sorry.

I open my eyes and see a billion pine needles parted for tiny dots of light spread generously across the canvas above. The grass is a gentle caress against my ear and it paints its stoke of dew against my cheek. The smell of wet gravel surrounds where my body lay. I stretch my fingers toward the drenched grass, thinking of the days where you and I would lie here summer evenings and watch the ghost wind push the swings. The days we knew every constellation.
The glass is smooth between my fingers instead. Instantly the sky is white and the silence is shattered. High pitched distress blares over my head. And now I see again, but the sounds cut out. Frantically dancing blue, red and orange spin past my arm, bouncing off the glass, jumping to your tiara. It’s twinkling atop your brown curls- still in all their perfection. I listen for your scream. Please, please, please. Your tattered corsage is beside my knee. I need to reach you. There is led on my chest that I cannot see. My hand is all there is to move. Tighter, tighter, the glass slices through my grasp, the drops join the river from me to you. And as more lights dance closer, I think of what a desperate way it is to tell you I’m sorry.