Dawn
By Rebecca Kelley
I didn’t fall in love with you.
If anything, it fell into me, hitting me
like a meteor
hidden behind the sunlight of your smile.
It took me by surprise,
threw logic out the windows of my soul
and kept them open wide,
so I could take you in.
It came slowly then made itself known
like — and with — the sunrise.
Suddenly, blindingly,
weeks of glances,
conversations,
and atmospheres
made sense,
flowed in a gradient of pinks,
oranges,
and purples.
Of course we fell for each other.
Of course it all came to light as we watched
the sun peaking out over the view
from your living room.
Of course we faded into the blue of reality.
When people ask what color the sky is,
I say blue.
That’s what they expect.
And the blue is what I return to,
what I spend my days with.
But when I wake up and fall asleep,
no matter if the space next to me is empty
or occupied,
I see us again,
holding hands in the black of night,
discovering the layers of colors we created
for each other.
Rebecca Kelly is an alumnus of West Chester University of Pennsylvania.