Long gone,
Thirty three summers have passed.
The trees echoed your name again.
It's that time where your name is permanently stitched on my lips -
Like a prayer, a spiritual chant, as if it would protect me from death and cavities.
The thoughts of going away, and intertwined arms underneath the indigo skies of February are present in between my temples all over again.
Discovering paths, rebuilding trust.
It's quite difficult for us to touch.
I am still listening to the same humidity -
You are still traveling shorelines in humility.
There are still nine million universes inside your eyes.
There are still eighty one reasons for me to live these lies.
No comments:
Post a Comment