HERE, THE SKY IS DIFFERENT ❋ Candace Holmes

the sky here is different. he said he memorized the pattern in my iris in case he ever has to identify me using only my eyeballs. living 7 hours in my future, i guess he knows what will kill me. and of course the only thing left of me will be a part he couldn’t touch.

his hands are so soft they aren’t skin i swear they’re magnetic fields. they’re skin ground up into powder then rearranged back into the form of a hand. but the soft hands can’t keep me from returning to the big shoulders, the broad shoulders.

can his small intestine’s whale songs carry across the atlantic ocean? or can he send me the powder that makes up his hands, bottle by bottle, until he’s beached and stranded ashore? no. my beach has no salt. no.

the sky is different here. nobody believes me but i know, because i memorized it, so when the earth dies i can identify it by just looking at the sky.