hope

Is it your turn to lose control yet? I keep waiting for you to slip so I can stand up and claim my falls.

Winter afternoons

Afternoons.
*sigh*
Afternoons are not good times. These days. I believe it is the weather, the atmosphere, the routine that has an effect. For, winter afternoons signal the end of the day, the imminent setting of the sun, and the nearby transition to darkness, and evening, and cold.
Hence, they depress me.
Every afternoon finds me curled up in the corner, staring at the artificial flames, seeing past them, feeling so much all at once, and my body trembles with sobs, harsh sobs that may or may not hold tears.
Or, under the heavy quilt, which sees and hears and feels me then and at night, and tries to hug me into itself, tries to comfort me, warm me, and yet, the dying sun has set – and I am warm on the outside, but still cold inside.

I wait for times when memories will bring only smiles. And perhaps a tender touch of wistfulness.

I miss her, who hugs me only with words, and that is better than any bear hug.
I miss him, who wishes and waits and whose path I embellish with flower petals.

The better half that is you

January the 1st deserved mention, but unfortunately got it not.
No matter, there have been days and days after, minutes and moments that brought warmth and energy and smiles and tears - tears of joy, tears of longing, tears of bittersweet emotion. Words. Words that were heavy with emotion and feeling, feeling so pure, so selfless, that it is indescribable, possibly because I can only wish to be so myself.
You are light, you are warmth, you are the sun. The real sun. The only sun. The summer sun.
The strawberry blond that shines and ripples and bursts with fruit-energy. Fresh. Rich. Lush.
Green grass, that needs bare feet to feel alive.
Cold mirror on flushed pink cheeks. Relief. Slowing down of pulse.
The pulse that races. In your presence. In your absence. In my fantasies. Us.
Indescribable. Threads that we wove together, you and I, threads that we kept adding strands to, weaving side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Flaxen thread, ebony silk, warm-brown-soft.
I do not need your open arms to know my worth. Your eyes say it all.
I do not need assurances of loyalty, of faith, of belief, of hope. Your voice radiates it, with laughter, with gruffness, with humility, with passion.
And yet, yet it matters, somehow...somehow it feels good to hear it.. when you say

I love you

burn me...please?

i was the candle and you were the moth. then you were the candle and i was the moth. we burned. you faded. i went out. distance brings cold. do you want to play with fire again? my heart says yes. my mind says no. my soul...i dont understand the language of my soul. i await your answer only.