last creative writing club distracted justwrite

Feeling blue around the edges, not as rough as yesterday when long weekends melted into long summers over a hundred empty pages, and I fed plants with the light behind my eyes, hunched over them until the storms came and I remembered that every time dancing in hail is like the first time, the ceiling opening up and people like reflections of themselves, pretending I don't know them until the time is up and I'm thrust into a traffic jam on my bicycle, but my legs are too long so my knees hit the handlebars every time I pedal, my head without a helmet and the crosswalks invisible so I don't know when to stop until my wheels fall off and the road caves in, and you're waving from the other side of a great canyon so I can't quite see your face. We jump together. Our shoelaces are untied and have been their whole lives, not like the newly unknotted with white spots like fingernails, yours like seashells, the underside that sand hasn't yet worn away, the callouses on my hands feeling smoother when I'm under water learning how to breathe again every time I surface. You have a camera with the lens permanently unfocused; I remember pictures of words that look like lightning, of rooms that are really nothing unless your nose is pressed against the page, since when you breathe all of something in, it's less focused and more clear, like one day ahead of you and knowing exactly what you'll do except the details because when your spontaneity is planned you don't believe it, like how fairies only seem real when you weren't looking, too many questions about light tripping over your eyes or trapped behind them, trying to decide if your tears are green or blue.