rendition of a really great short i read earlier today.
he doesn’t remember being anything but lost, like black dust in orbit.
he’s been stuck in orbit for so long, with not enough momentum to push him out. and she’s always there, seemingly at a standstill, gravity enough to pull him in but not enough to push him all the way. instead, he fists the ends of his favourite grey flannel an arm’s length away, shifting his weight periodically from foot to foot. on some days, he thinks maybe he will spin a little slower and inch a little closer but when his eyes flicker up to meet hers, he feels like he’s breathing underwater and it stings, bruised elbows and weak wrists, shortcomings.
the thing is he always found it fascinating how her smile made him love the sun over the moon, until he realised that with numbered breaths and pale skin, you can never touch the sun.