When words stopped flowing out of your mouth I tried to hug you again because something inside me was out of place and I wanted you to fix it.
You turned away, and the moon fell out of orbit. It jolted, just a few millimeters to the left, not even noticeable to telescopes stuck on the Earth.
But I felt it.
You want to study astrology so I painted the stars, and gave them to you.
A few short months ago I called you, the night sky already shadowing the world, and I held back tears for a moment before you told me you were coming over. The purest blue shined on us as I cried to you, then, the moon, was full and bright.
See, you weren’t someone I ever expected to write poetry about.
But when you unknowingly let your roots grow under the fence into someone else’s garden you give them the right to dig them up.
I wish I knew if you wanted my roots there, or if they are to much of a burden. A hindrance underneath the garden that you never let me see.
You’ve never told me what you grow there, but I suspect that there won’t be anything growing if I checked.
Because past the fence that you’ve painted like a full sleeve tattoo I know there is not enough paint to cover up how barren you “Garden” is.
I still wish you would let me even peek over the fence, because then maybe I’d know whether you ever want me to hug you again.
Or if I should be the friend content in knowing that you’d never let me look over the beauty and into your shame.