Love in a nutshell

I was screaming my silence at him.

I missed him.

But he didn’t seek me.

He was screaming his silence back at me.

We were having this conversation in the silence.

Secretly loving each other at a distance.

Too afraid to be sought.

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Bookworm

Remember when he held your hands.

Remember the days you would miss him but he would be back.

It’s Sunday evening and you’re sitting outside,

the porch light in a yellow mood.

the wind is cold,

your breath is lonely.

Remember when he used to offer you his coat.

Remember when he took you to the beach one time.

Now another week has gone by.

You sit under the porch light again,

this time reading a book.

You can still hear him say

“read this, this one’s really good”

Yes, you take refuge in books.

A gust of wind blows and you just let it turn the pages,

as you were deep in thought…

Remember when you went out for movies,

Remember when you biked down 5th avenue,

going faster and faster,

like you never had to worry about falling down.

Remember?

You always forget why you don’t

have to remember these things anymore.

Lonesome being

Even with the billions surrounding us
we look up in the night sky 
in the empty space
 we keep watch of the stars
 any signs in the orbit
 just to know we are not alone

 I search for constellations
I’ll let toughts of you 
fill the loneliness I’m feeling
 in the glimmering sky 
twinkling stars 
in the constellations there’re 
images we created for ourselves

Before dawn

 

Waking up beside her ghosts as the mind’s eye dwells

Unsafe in the tawny silence of the morning gray

The past deadly echoes like faint phantom bells

There’re no tides to turn leaving questions at bay

 

When thus alone the memories thwack

The air is still and the road is lonely

For none else in his abode to come back

To work he walks alone in dilly-dally

 

Ardour minutes lay in its approaching

The sky an azure with pearly whites

He keeps walking as daylight is in its coming

At the end of the tunnel he’ll catch the morning lights

Presence

 

Scars are just scars. They do not hurt any more. It is always the freshest wound that hurts most.

Scars tell their stories and it is those stories that hurt; not the scars themselves but the memories brought about when you emotionally rip off that patched up mark on your skin to have the scenes of your flesh and his flesh on the same setting, replayed on your mind.

Sometimes. Well. Sometimes.

Sometimes we do not need someone to erase the scars. Somehow we do not even feel the need for someone to serve as our vent. Not someone to listen to our life story, to listen to our tragedy and love us even after our dark history. Not someone to help us carry our luggage… burdens? Or someone to show us our future, our happily ever after. Not someone to show us how happy we could be.

Sometimes

We just need someone to be there. To smell the sweet scent of the same air. To share the silence of the night. To just be there.