Prena Poetry

he laid a flower on my lap, it was almost wilted and bruised but he said it was still a flower
and it looked pretty; pretty like me. i put a bandied upon the scar on his hand. he smiled, i did too. then we looked up at the pure august sky as i kept my head on his grey shoulder bag. i still remember it’s fabric, the stars and asteroids he doodled on the strap and a heap of unstapled papers on theories he never submitted. i still remember the soft sound of our breath that quietly filled our ears.
i love autumn,
i told him as i put my arms up in the air and gently swayed. ( he loved the night sky more)

he walked me till the lamp post next to my house. we spoke nothing but thoughts that never even knew eachother’s name. i paused under the yellow-orange light and asked him if i would see him tomorrow. well, i don’t remember if he said yes but he did say that he also loved autumn, and quietly walked away.

he never told me if he loved me. i just knew he loved the comprehension that we were both bruised people almost like the flowers that fell on the ground. i just knew i loved the idea that we were like the gleaming comets that once fell on the floor and failed to look beautiful.

then i never saw him after that. i could only remember we were first partners in an astronomy class, we were studying stars. it was some autumns ago. i rolled up my sleeves and so did he. and see we both had scars on our arms that could be mapped into prettiest constellations. (we both wanted to leave)

every planet, every moon, every atom
dotted right into our damaged skin.
every speck of stardust our lungs inhaled, and felt ashamed for the cosmic weight crashing on our chests.

now i just look up at the sky on clear autumn nights. i understand why he took astronomy
and i just like to belive
he is one of the stars up there.
he is there
he will awlays be there