Monday, January 27, 2014

It's raining. You're not here.

(in progress)
Your eyes were nothing like the sky,
    a frame without depth, a surface
    of color - when compared to your eyes.
The kind of blue where one would get lost. So easy.
No, I did not cry. Just sweat coming down on my cheeks,
    impugned by a few random thoughts.
                Saved by the hot day.

Back then, I loved to listen to your silence.
Your words, when they tiptoed,
                where did they go?
Did they escape, or crash
    hopeless into your heart? I’ll never know.

You spoke of what life once was,
    of the rain now gone, its drops dried so young,
    and buried deep into clouds,
    so white that only memories allow it.
I see it in my mind, again,
    young colours coming back,
                to this gray, empty day.

You said you loved the rain - I do remember well -
    that one day I will understand.
That we are all the same, and it is just a game
    we play. And I should never let myself feel broken.
That I am stronger than the wind.
You looked around. Not any wind, you laughed,
   ‘cause wind - right then and there - there wasn’t any.

And then, the days that came and went their way,
    have not found me again for a while.
Just the surface.
So the rain, when it did, it cut through my skin, 
    tears looking for dry bones to restore to life,
    so they could hold a smile again.

Yes, I knew.
For lately, when you opened your eyes in the mornings,
That first breath awake, the first smile, 
    stretching to drive the sleep away, while keeping the dream a bit longer,
    before the thoughts started to pour in, chasing it all away..
Your other life. I knew.
I did not say it. Why reminding you of the pain living brings?

Good. Morning! Rise - you silly, it's a glorious day.
You did. And it was still fine for a while.
Until those last dawns broke dry through my thoughts.
I wasted them away, not wanting to be reminded
    that me and my heart still shared the same host.

You said you loved me.

Now I know. There's only one thing certain.
An end. And only one dare.
Not now.

Because, now, good - and mornings don't go together.

It's raining.

Love you too.