He is the sunrise with gentle footsteps on my dark doorways. Who chooses the fresh sunsets and pulls me in , as he goes down the horizon. The glorious glow of a good thumping heart. And I listen close , listen tirelessly. With him being an outpouring of life in every chunk of my existence. The Broadway musical of The notebook amongst repetitive comics. The vintage radio with the Beatle songs. A Van Gogh who paints masterpieces with my soul multicolored.
And I see an imagery. Of my old and experienced bones. With wrinkles like happy winds on bright days. A chair with me clasping on to the moments I lived. I lived with You. And nothing just a merry feeling of accomplishment, a smile of acknowledgement, brushing strokes on the sky. Making it look not empty. But like angels are going to fall like raindrops. And lifting me to the ultimate youth. Because I lived. I lived with you. And in between the living our love breathed. Gently for a second. And then forever.
I am " A river of fluent tales". A story unfurls from his ocean eyes. Playing flute to the butterflies.
As if giving me hopes. He becomes the sleep in between my activities. And I become the activity in between his sleep. So, somewhere love is written in verses , sewn in poetry and hidden in the opaqueness of the world. While our hearts are just transparent with windows once opened and now locked. With no doorbells or alarms. Just a pulse of light trapped. Within membranes.Finding ways to displace , engulf the darkness.