Those big towering Flat Irons were yours in my head.
Your hands, which always made me cry, were the ones who sculpted them. I always imagined that at one point or another you cut your heart in half and put one half in the mountains and the other half in the ocean. Unfortunately for me, that means I didn’t get any of it. I could tread on the ground that carried it. I could put my ear to the Earth, or stand on the beach and hear it then. I fell in love with a heart that wasn’t mine to begin with. It’s strange that you went from existing in everything I did, to a complete and total stranger. I wonder where those weird feet of yours will take you, and what those hands, those emotional hands, will create.
