I lost my words upon catching sight of your form, as you lay among sprouts with your lips slightly apart and your lids shut tight.

I was not looking for you, or for anything. I was on my way back to my room, back to my automatons, my robots, and I snuck a look at you. Stopping, watching for a bit, I was caught.

You should know that you, my daring boy, had thrown away your morning on a walk through woodlands. I had thrown away my morning on my laptop, as always. Do you find your soul in plants, in fauna?

Your nights consist of a nap in the grass, staring up at a black sky and thinking through your past. I cannot fathom how you do this again and again. Nights build up that you cast off to a starry sky, a ground on which to faint, a book to flip through if apathy occurs.

I am a vassal to html, to www dot com, to this cathodic display which haunts my hours and always holds my thought. You, I think, did this too, many months ago. You would not abandon your big comfy chair, your laptop and it's magic. It had control of your days, as it now has with my own. How did you cut away from it? How can I?

I want to know all of it- that tactility of grass on my palms, of bark scraping against my arms, of rocks that cut into my skin. If your nights in grassy union (with woods, with worlds) truly fill your mind with magic, I want to know that too. I want astonishing nights on grassy lawns with you.

This, my darling, is a world. And I want all of it.

He was intensely blue eyes. He was improbable laughter at predictable jokes. He was sunlight and moonlight and flowers in bloom.

She used to laugh at the way he stared, squirming under the spotlight, a bug and a loving microscope, a bright light she was not used to. She'd turn her head away and blink through a curtain of hair.
"Why do you keep staring?" She'd ask.
"You're beautiful," he'd say, and she'd blush or frown or squint.

Later, she would learn to push away the protective shades and
smile.
She would learn to see the light as a sun, a star.
She would respond in melted kisses and stare back.

They morphed into one and let their fears fall through the cracks, pushing against sunlight and falling on the grass.
For the first time, with him, the color green wasn't so fearful. The tickling of leaves felt warm.

They learned to marvel at each others' mere existence, the way his footsteps followed hers and her kiss always righted wrongs. In twisting corridors they curled together, sweetness lingering on their tongues. They ignored the bitter after taste, which whispered on the edges of their lips and brought rain clouds on their kisses.
Impossible, she thought, and she shook away the feeling of a treacherous heart's slide.

Sometimes they dragged their feet, but other times he lifted her and carried her across the beach as if it were a hearth. The sand caught in his toes
but he pretended not to care.

They played hide and seek with words.
The words she lost he found and he
stored them away in private pages, waiting for a chance
until
she found herself reaching, wanting, loving.
He found himself shrinking, pushing, leaving.

And when she was alone she thought: I never learned his favorite color and she didn't know which way
to fall.