"you're making an impact on people," he whispers to me as he pulls me into his lap and lets his fingers slip into the waistband of my jeans.

i put this thought in my pocket and carry it with me while i practice turning cartwheels.
an impact. an impact.

(by the end of the week i can execute a perfect cartwheel and i have decided to change my name to "meteor.")


---


when he's angry at me he only types in single letters.

"i love you. the stars are covered up with clouds right now."

"o."

"please, talk to me?"

"k."

and it makes my ears ache because i know that no matter how many times he types the letters, it will never be "o-k."


---


sometimes i look out the window in case a piece of the heavens is going to fall and crush me, but it never happens.


---


i sprain my wrist turning cartwheels, and he tells me that maybe i should never have turned them in the first place.

"i'm a fucking falling star," i tell him. "i'm invincible."

he just laughs.


---


"i'm sort of sorry," i tell him the next day, wiping my eyes inconspicuously on his t-shirt.

"why?"

"for killing off all the dinosaurs."

he rocks me while i cry, and because he loves me he doesn't mention that i am something blazing and brilliant, and that when i burn out i will take everyone down with me.