The Wee hours
Tell me, would you look at me the same way if I spilled my darkest secrets in the wee hours of the night?
The time when the ghosts visit the earth. The monsters of our scarred past; lurking behind the veils of our eyes.
The eyes. Oh! Those eyes.
Would I still feel their warmth? Or would I meet the familiar look of desertion? Would you still be able to look me in the eye?
Would you still tell me that I was the sweetest person you met? Or would you flinch at my sight?
Would you see the erratic cloud of stardust in me? Or would you zest in the cosmos you view?
Would I feel light-hearted or would I get crushed by yet another rock? Would we feel surreal in the silence or hasten up to find words?
It would be a shame if we did; because the language of heart knows no words.