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You grasped my hand as if it was going to slip away, like a bar of soap in the shower. Delicate desperation. I could feel each individual blade of grass tickle my neck the way you do when you want to see me smile. They caressed my elbows and ankles too.
We lay flat on our backs and watched time drift past, white and pure and innocent.
"Don't you think they're beautiful" you asked with no question mark.
"I think you're perfect”
So you watched the clouds mutate while I closed my eyes to pretend I was the girl who had everything and dreamed of nothing.

You were the definition of exciting, lying in the grass and wishing upon clouds, not stars; just to be different. I would ask, why clouds? They bring storms, and you never came out when it rained.
“None of my wishes came true when I saw shooting stars.” And then you told me bittersweet tales of windowsills and midnight, irrelevant dreams and cracks in your mother’s china. I wished on all the clouds I saw, that you could have fixed the china and that one day you would remember why you yearned for those dreams to become reality.
I don’t think you noticed my wishing, because the clouds kept filling my skies, and you kept watching them come and go as if each one held a new meaning or another dream. I tried to keep up with your ambitions, but your mind always races ahead in passionate obliviousness and runs laps around my insignificant thoughts.

Today you came out in the rain. You hid your face under the grey hood so I could only see your fingertips and it broke my heart. They were shaking and cold, like the ice cream we shared last summer. The sky was a box of iron wool, you know, the stuff the chemistry teachers tell you to put in test tubes. No white clouds brightened your mood, and so we stood under the iron wool cloak and I held your fingertips like you had once held my hand.
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DLD contest - clouds.

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July 14, 2009
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