Rose-Tinted Glasses

By Aarohi Rao

static clings to my skin. the electricity flashing on the slight of my palm.

you look lovely, like a portrait frozen in time.

but no. you are in constant motion. i can’t imagine you not fidgeting.

in my head, you are but a photograph, already blurred.

already lost to time. the different versions of you meld in my mind.

i do not trust you. and still i shudder.

i hate the power i give you. i want to hate you, but i cannot.

you are not yet in the past, yet i look at you with rose-tinted glasses.

i am already nostalgic for a time that never ended. you will leave me.

someone always has to be the first to leave, and it will never be me.

sunflowers are the truest thing i know.

they always turn to face the sun.

like i always turned towards you.

(when i make a joke, my first instinct is to wait for your laugh.)

your name is a poem. your voice is a song.

you are at the other end of the world, and i’m not there.

it’s daylight savings for you.

it gets darker sooner, now, and i’m not there with you,

holding your hand—under the stars and the streetlights.

i know the sun is already up when you open your eyes,

and all i want is to see you glow. your smile is like sunshine.

the distance between us cannot stop me.

but it’s daylight savings now. it gets darker sooner

—your smile already fading.

it’s the new year now,

and i still want to text you.

you are my inciting incident,

the start to my story.

without you, i don’t think there is a story.

By Aarohi Rao