I am no mystery. No more than anyone else. I am just someone who loves you more than THEY ever could. You know me. Ah, and I know you. In the realms of mist and beyond the REM where we meet. Myself? Are you talking to me? Tell you something about me? What do you want to know? Are you sure you want to know? Think and remember us. We've already met. @tracey8737
I value you and want you to know I never want there to be a rift between us. Before the sun sets out your way I hope to hear that you're okay. Because empty is how I feel when you're distant with me. @tracey8737
I write a sunset in my mind, as the sun slowly undresses the sky, layer by layer. she's no longer white, no longer blue, she's a burning orange, a shy pink. She makes love with the fingers of a widow.
But I've written this before. In another life. In another body. Somebody has. This borrowed language gnaws away at me. I lie in a bed of words born in another's throat, moulded with another's fingers. The linguists of the past deny me the ego of a creator. But then again, what is truly mine. Proprietorship is merely a coin rolling down a vending machine.
I have my back to the metaphors of every dead poet who sat on this bench. Glory is forgotten, names are forgotten, words are forgotten too. The clouds hover in a voiceless mourning, a veil for the widowed sky. They remain a ghostly white even in the darkness.
When spring came, the tulips bloomed. And so did our love. The jasmines danced aromatizing the earth. And I discovered your love for darkness when I found you admiring the starless nights.
You said the mirth will succumb to the scorching heat when summer bares it's crown. But that's the thing about darkness. It grows darker. It is permanent. And permanence nowadays, is something worth falling for.
And when autumn arrived... I found myself fretting over the emptiness creeping between us slowly. But you turned to the falling leaves, and told me that some falls happen to make the world more beautiful.
But now I halt. For you're gone and I'm scared. For it's close. For it's here. With a question that remains unuttered, Will I still be in love? Will I survive the winter?