She smiled 



So bright the sun was envious and I was blinded and lost in the darkest parts. 



The darkest parts of her hair, her mouth, her eyes. "Would it be alright", I ask, "if I told you our hearts disagree?" 



She smiles, smaller this time, and her face is red and I am, looking at my feet. 



With her, my arms are never empty, yet my eyes are never dry and I feel as if I should weigh these two things. 



Is one worth the other? Is this corner small enough to hide me and large enough to dwell inside, or must I be forced to enter the light, where she is smiling, so smooth and naïve. 



And her hair, it hangs to the side and I slide my hands through it, and I slide my hands, and I slide away but she doesn't follow, and it is better. 



It's better if I am sliding and she is standing still. 



Her feet are stuck, yet she is flying. 



The syllables drop, heavy with the weight of what they mean, and light with the freedom manifest inside their curves and edges and she is smiling again and I feel that, perhaps, in the end this will all turn out...all right