The memory of going away alone,
the tentative steps towards the sky.
The oceans rise to meet the heaven, splattered
with colors that don’t seem to match,
yet meld together into something picturesque.
It swallows me whole, unaware of it happening
in the focus of the distant objects.
I’m last in the swells,
the rise and falls of each pull towards
the silver moon.
I pull away, my back turned reluctantly.
I walk away tentatively,
letting go but dreaming of dappled colors
and the love I dreamed with you.
Via The Daily Post – Tentative.