i dream of you still.
of simple things.
of walking down that same street.
talking about our day.
must i wake up to the taste of salt water.
to traces of you around me.
how sad must i be.
to dream of you still.
of simple things.
what is it that i have on you.
it makes you stay.
when i whisper no.
as you are about to leave.
i would like to fill myself to the brim with that ingredient.
for you have calmed the quarrels of my demons.
i heard them sigh with relief.
as you traced your steps back to me.
so what is it that i have on you.
i would like to possess just enough of it.
maybe then you will stay forever.
for even my demons have fallen in love with you.
stay and be the well of remedy they always thirst for.
stay as long as you would like.
and then stay a bit longer.
because i meant to say i love you.
when i traced your name on the palm of your hand.
i meant to say i need you.
when i whispered no.
this is it, isn’t it, i thought.
right here is where i lose all of my inhibitions.
somewhere between the seams and threads of his button down shirt.
somewhere on the trail between his eyes and lips.
and in the distance i hear him say.
do not look at me like that.
my sanctuary cannot be the raft floating the oceans in the brown of your eyes.
do not look at me like that he says.
i do not mean to tease i tell him.
the wrinkles around your eyes.
the way you smile when i catch you staring at me.
i only mean to commit you to memory i tell him.
he laughs it off.
and in turn i say.
do not touch me like that.
love cannot be in the way you hold me.
do not touch me like that i say.
i cannot help but reach out to you he tells me.
hand on my waist.
hand around the pendant over my chest.
you are meant to be loved and held this way he tells me.
an eye for an eye redefined, wouldn’t you say.
my eyes for his hands.
and a sanctuary for a love.
and i would like to know why it hurts.
why thinking of you hurts.
as though thoughts of you.
are sweet mixed with a teaspoon of salt.
a cup of hot cocoa in the middle of a snow storm.
and the distance between us is taunting.
as though every step is.
forgiving but equally demanding.
and i cannot help but wallow.
in the toxicity of longing and loving.
and lust. lust then becomes almost tangible.
as your honey voice echoes.
from the city of the blue temple.
words promising and asking.
soon and wait for me.
i should have known then.
when my pen and paper met.
i would be writing of you.
and wanting to know why it hurts.
why loving you hurts.
they tell me.
it seems i have fallen for an image i created of you.
and i tell them.
my mind must have mastered the art of painting without my knowing.
for when you held me that night.
i had to praise my mind for an accurate replication.
from touch to colour.
my mind was pretty damn close in perfecting your creation.
i should have whispered to you what the silence was carrying.
i do not want to miss you.
i’d like to be with you.
when you looked me in the eye and said ‘i’m torn between two cities.’
i should have asked you to stay.
i should have asked you to choose me and this city.
one with the grounds that scraped my knees as a little girl.
i should have told you what the silence said.
i’ll miss you. it hurts.
stay. leave. it hurts.
take care of yourself. it hurts
the silence still hurts.
when i close my eyes.
you are here.
palm on my cheek.
finger tip stroking my lower lip.
you are here.
but i reach out to nothing.
i won’t open my eyes.
you must stay here.
between memory and imagination.