For the Invisible Girl.

Even a city boy knows what it feels like idling under a big sky. We’ve all been there at one point or another, staggering like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. I lost my balance in New Mexico and Utah. Green eyes and a big sky. No matter how many times I see them, it always feels like the first time.

I was told not to trust them when I was growing up. I learned to fall in love regardless. That was back when I was looking for them like a kitten stalking a rolling marble in freshly tilled soil. I’ve always been drawn to anything that makes me feel wistful.

Like the first time I fell in love with the Town of Spectre from Big Fish where nobody wore shoes. The grass was so green it made you day dream about fire flies and leave your shoes hanging from a wire. Like the first time I really saw fire flies in the corn fields of Ohio.

But the color of this particular set of eyes is special — only found otherwise in brief moments. Like the brilliantly vivid rocks that wash onto the beach and conceal their treasure when the sun kisses them dry.

I want to know those eyes but I never will. Thats why every time I see them, it’s the first time. Thats nostalgia. It’s something so comfortably unfamiliar that it feels like the world is coming to an end and you’re ok with it. When the rustic picture frames holding your story fall apart with the hollow coo of a wind chime and for the moment, you’re not part of the rest of mankind. By the time I loosen my numb gaze from the grasp of the big sky i’m ten years old, wavering in the fall and the undisturbed peace of my childhood. Walking home from school, sailing vermillion leaves from my finger tips to the sidewalk. Those green eyes sell the smoke of firewood, carried on the skin of winds that bring incomparable love to my face and unparalleled threat to the forest. I hear my dad telling me that nothing in this life is free.

When Im looking at green eyes Im looking up at a big sky. I see Christina’s World. I feel the sting of what is to come.