Cumulus

Sometimes talking to you is like talking to a cloud. You drift all over the horizon, floating in silence, and it’s hard to tell if we’ve gotten anywhere. When I reach out to see if there’s any solid connection between us, my fingers slip through the vapor without making contact. Even if things look meaningfully corporeal, as soon as I extend a hand, they part and disappear. We’re always dancing around each other, except I’m the only one attempting to make this work, while you remain aloof—an unattainable white tower in the sky that I can never touch or reach or even comprehend.