Blue and green. And there aren't any, but maybe there are. And you smile. I sigh with the sun.
Hair is in my face and on your arm and I feel you pause and I pause because if I breathe it might leave. Or you will leave.
It's too dry and wet and I don't know where my hands are and my cage is broken. There is heat in my throat that promises napalm skies. Rain evaporates as it falls. There are no wrens either.
I think I sound like I'm calm. Not sure if I can lie that well. Waves crash and forge cracks through rocks that have withstood entire lives. You mess up your hair and I want it to be mine.
I'm sure there's a siren somewhere. There was an explosion and I can't hear and the shrapnel grazes my skin and the heat wave blows through, drying tears in hot dust on my face.
Closed eyes concentrate the pull. Summer lightning scorches fires. A splintered tree and a scared bear. Red and orange and black in swollen clouds.
Sheets of iron are torn across a surging vista. Hair whips around my face while I scream into a storm that screams louder. Cliffs fall into tempestuous seas.
Ancient roots tear from the ground, drag across the cracking earth and fill the burning air with needles and dirt. I can't see. Or breathe.
I falter and fall, pushing through the world that's crashing and burning into chaos around me. I'm still screaming but it's empty sound and a mouth full of toxic air.
I try to sit in it and let it pass but everything falls onto me more. I curl. Knees bent and held. Hot tears. My skin not holding me together. Torn stitches and shattered glass.
Standing now, clenched fists, and shouting for calm. Running for it. Pleading. Praying. Out stretched hands blindly feeling for it. Running and falling and grazed knees and searching hands.
And I hit it. I collide into it and it stops. The storm ceases, the trees fall. Chasms close. A calm sea and no more sirens. My fingers closed around cotton and your arms are around my waist.
Blue and green. And you smile.