Hot air balloons lift the weight of your heavy heart and ink pours from your lips when they part to speak, writing empty words on invisible pages.

Butterflies swim underwater, beauty breathing carbon-monoxide into your flooded lungs that once were whole but now destroyed, the bullet-holes making it so hard just to breathe.

And you wishwishwish that you could catch those dreams in butterfly nets or paint hope on black canvases in the color of her mind, but they were out of both the colors and the canvases when you got around to asking.

Inconceivable realities are surfacing the sea of disbelief, and you come to the realization that all you never believed is the prodigal truth, the things you saw as clear before becoming a foreign language that you cannot read.

Your heart fastens pace in its ivory cage as you lay eyes upon her dancing silhouette, your insides expanding and contracting all at once, and you wonder;

Is there such a thing as heaven?

Different.
Please, please tell me what you think.