re-entry mark two

it isn’t the re-entry that burned me to a crisp, it wasn’t the sudden in flux of atmosphere, the re-inflation of lungs with combustible gas

it was her

floating in a capsule with artificial gravity, pills to recreate emotional discourse, freeze dried remains, frozen scenes, moments of loss, trivial words that fell from their sockets to spill heartfelt idiocy into the boundless space between

when you wish upon a falling star, have you ever stopped to consider that it could be someone else’s dreams burning away across the sky

the world is a pawn shop of other people’s hopes

the ground races towards me

all i see is her, arms open to catch me, tuck me in to her last embrace

it isn’t the re-entry, it is the thought of her looking away

that’s what burns me to a crisp

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