there are three things i learn as we grow up together. each important, a lesson you teach me, carved out in the sky along with the stars.
one. don’t give up. your finger traces the first lesson when we are six, lying on the grass one night spent in backyards camping.
i let my childish anger burn and rule me, tossing my newly acquired volleyball to the ground when i couldn’t get it right at first. you, after an annoyed sigh, and some time to think, tell me otherwise. try again, your sleepy voice says, as you look from the stars to the ball lying nearby.
(the next day, i do. we do. and it becomes a part of us, as natural as our own breath.)
two. i am not alone. we sit on the steps outside the gym, vulnerable to the cold air and bright stars, but i feel anything but vulnerable, as i think of your angered declaration, your words that guide me after i have mistepped and didn’t understand.
you are not alone, your words imply, in this dark expanse of the universe you have your teammates to count on to support you.
your words wash away my previous fears and my obsession with being surpassed. in that moment, as we leave to walk home together, i want to scream to the sky, the stars as my witness, that i know what invincibility is, that i feel it pounding in my chest right then.
(and i learn, and we learn, grow and get better, so we may take on the galaxy as long as we have and support each other.)
three. no matter the distance that stretches between us, we will stay together. after we graduate, we sit on the swings at the park we considered our second home as children, and you squeeze my hand, a certainty rather than a wish on a shooting star.
(long-distance relationships and separate universities may be obstacles, but we can conquer them. we will.)
the lessons we have learned, the ones you have taught me, are etched among the stars. permanent and certain promises we hold and have given to each other’s hearts.
FILL: SWAG 2016
warning: manga spoilers (just to be safe)
there are three things i learn
as we grow up together.
each important, a lesson you teach me,
carved out in the sky along with the stars.
one.
don’t give up.
your finger traces the first lesson when we are six,
lying on the grass one night spent in backyards camping.
i let my childish anger burn and rule me,
tossing my newly acquired volleyball to the ground when i couldn’t get it right at first.
you, after an annoyed sigh, and some time to think, tell me otherwise.
try again, your sleepy voice says, as you look from the stars to the ball lying nearby.
(the next day, i do.
we do.
and it becomes a part of us, as natural as our own breath.)
two.
i am not alone.
we sit on the steps outside the gym, vulnerable to the cold air and bright stars,
but i feel anything but vulnerable, as i think of your angered declaration,
your words that guide me after i have mistepped and didn’t understand.
you are not alone, your words imply,
in this dark expanse of the universe
you have your teammates to count on
to support you.
your words wash away my previous fears
and my obsession with being surpassed.
in that moment, as we leave to walk home together,
i want to scream to the sky, the stars as my witness,
that i know what invincibility is, that i feel it pounding in my chest right then.
(and i learn,
and we learn,
grow and get better,
so we may take on the galaxy as long as we have and support each other.)
three.
no matter the distance that stretches between us, we will stay together.
after we graduate, we sit on the swings at the park we considered our second home as children,
and you squeeze my hand, a certainty rather than a wish on a shooting star.
(long-distance relationships and separate universities may be obstacles,
but we can conquer them.
we will.)
the lessons we have learned,
the ones you have taught me,
are etched among the stars.
permanent and certain
promises we hold and have given to each other’s hearts.