gazes at the disconnected sky, with the dial tone sounding in the most shrill way
but is silent because she has numbed herself from feeling
She only dreams now, of the days to come, of the days she will see the people she will meet and this scares her incredibly
What is the point now if in three years nothing will be
The way she sees it to be today
She wants to freeze this state of mind and clasp it into a jar sealed by the condensation of sweet time, her deadliest enemy
Lying undisturbed through the years of her being
She wants these people to stay
And these problems to remain unswayed
For even in problems she finds security
because though no answer presents itself, she is forever cornered with the certainty of never finding the key
Knowing that it exists
but is at perpetual loss
somehow she knows
that if she can only connect that sky and that mind she can create something beautiful
but with a new definition of the word, something horribly messy,
with creases in the collar
and tearing in the hem
and no way to fix it
only beautiful
to them
to her
only beautiful to him, her, them,
those who understand
those who connect in the disconnecting sky.