When you blew up, I started to cry.
And then, I thought, That was so, so loud.
And then still, I found myself on the ground.
The sky was blue. The clouds were silver. And the crackling gray was blue, the very same color—aqua, like an aquamarine. The shades fell apart, but the color was blue.
This made sense. This made so much sense. The sky was silver, and the clouds blue—and then my heart flew, a rocket, with gilded metal. It was spreading frosting in the clouds, with Beatle cakes, and Lucy in the sky with her diamonds smoked marijuana; and I envied the men who saw pink elephants and women who were men with cleavage.
When you blew up, I cried explosion, and they believed me. They all believed me, and the rain fell down as I laughed and laughed and laughed, because my head was light and I was in the skies with you, gliding over gilded metal. Some good Chian wine, some gossiping laughter, and I was high as a kite, and now I am higher than the clouds. The view is good, and it is bliss. I am finally riding cumulus and cirrus, flipping and laughing. And because, just because, I thought, This is how it feels to be mad...
I like people. I like pizza. I like prizes. The world is a happy place, and the sun is marked with your face. The sun is glorious, and I am a star—illumination, flying buttresses in the Gothic towers, frowning up at me because I am so high above, and when you exploded, you blew sky-high, and I flew to the parallel. I never liked math, and I never like parabolas, never liked the circle and the rays and things endless like death and life. That is the ring of fire, or circle of life.
It spins and spins, and I run in circles of chickens and eggs and spades that crack them, and I am happy, happy, happy, because I love you like I loved you, and when you exploded, I heard a horrible cracking sound that seemed to emit from me, as if my stomach had rumbled, but sharper, sharp like soft and squishing heart. My skin did not break, because my ribs were alive, and repelled what seemed to be pieces, and then I was imported to world of fluff and pillows, soft and cool and warm like the little pieces of the broken thing.
And it is fun world, and I think again and again of you exploding, exploding, exploding as I am rolling and rolling and rolling and I am a barrel on the ground, the corona of light of the star in the sky, because you are my sun and my moon, but sun because you are so fun away, though I have flown away to live in a way that is living and still not living, so I can be with you.
Because I love you, and as a star, I reach for the sun. There is glass between us, but if I shine brightly enough, then maybe I can illuminate the sky and merge our realms.