Rays

Poetry by Nathalia Khawand
Photo by Elia Pellegrini

The sunlight teases my fingertips when I raise my hand up to the sky
the warmth softly caressing my skin

I'm tired of words and letters and comas and the sound of my fingers typing out little nothings but-

the sun doesn't really give a single ray about my feelings
it shines freely
oblivious to who it touches
indifferent to the eyes blinded and the hearts cracked open

noticed without noticing

The warmth spreads a bit further down my hand and I wish I could grab it
turn it into a warm drink that I'll spill on the back of my neck in little drops of snow to sink underneath my skin where it'll grow into dry petals before being swallowed out of my breath-

The sun ignores me

so I keep my hand up and watch the colors drip over my skin

My sighs turn into breaths
I don't really notice

and the light smiles as if it knows and I'm still tired of words and the sun still doesn't give a ray and God knows what I'm trying to say so-

maybe I'll ask him
but only when the sun is done shining
or when my breaths turn into water
or when my skin grows pretty flowers
or when I look into your eyes without seeing my own reflection

Sun's gone,
my hand stays still.

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