An explosion of sunshine is a spring art, blunt in remembrance, reminiscent in my mind of loving you as I draw madness among the sane. I have imagined that by reinventing yourself empty, fleeting, wandering, disagreeing, it would be the best and only way to forget you, my quiet mind, oblivious to what I lose. But it reiterates the sun of this enlightened day who we went without being while we love haunting in sweet dreams a thousand poetry. We shared faith then as we dreamed that love could just be our joy. The paradox of the time brings what we crave.
# Longing I wish I could hold you the way November holds the last leaf— with neither grip nor letting go, just the tender suspension between staying and falling. I wish I could speak you the way silence speaks to stone, each word a patient erosion, wearing smooth what was sharp, until meaning settles like sediment in the river-bed of listening. I wish I could love you the way distance loves the horizon— always approaching, never arriving, the ache itself a kind of presence, the reaching more real than the touch. But I am made of urgency, of fists and fever and Now, of hands that cannot hold without crushing, of words that spill like water through cupped palms, of a heart that mistakes possession for closeness. So I stand here, wanting to be the November that knows how to wait, the silence that understands, the distance that is also a door— and failing, always failing, I offer you this failure instead: the only honest thing I have.
Share this article