seven solitary sunsets

seven billion people
on this desolate
and damned planet;
seven continents
and first seven years
of loony infancy;
eight and you lose
your privileges to
free smiles,
unconditional love,
unplanned brazenness
and printed wrapping paper;
five enormous oceans
and the five second
when your reflection
doesn’t want to look
you in the eye anymore,
and reminds you that
she told you how
you smile too wide
and how your
knees are scarred,
and how your wrists
feel cold on the glass
wondering if they should follow…

seven billion people,
maybe someday
you’ll find one
who sees a million
aureate sunsets
in the tear drops
that stay on your
nose and eyelashes,
maybe someday
you’ll feel all the
life in the world
pulsing under
your fingertips;
holding hands was
never meant to be easy.

seven billion people,
solitude was never

T. E. Pyrus


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