I won’t ask any questions
that you can’t answer
and there are so many of them.
Everything I want to ask,
everything I want to tell you
is always something that I shouldn’t.
I am tied up by all that can’t let myself do.
But at the same time
I want some kind of happiness with you-
a brief dream, a conversation to recall,
a piece of you that no one else can have.
How shall I come closer to you
without alarming you?
What shall I do
for you to know my heart?
Tag Archives: piece
I won’t ask any questions
I fall into pieces in your love,
fall like rain
and make puddles out of your footprints,
there within the boundaries of your steps,
the steps you have forgotten,
lay my tears,
lies the remains
of my sincerity and my heart,
lies my world,
lies my love
that you have forgotten as well.
When you see me walk towards my grief,
towards my past,
with my head sinking down,
with my hands full of my own pieces,
stop me dear.
Come to me.
Run to me.
Call out to me
even when you think I cannot hear.
Hold me back
even when you think I cannot be stopped.
that you will try.
I bask in the sunlight
of borrowed memory.
I grieve in the arms
of your dying words.
I find another piece of myself
to send you away with
and I wonder why I feel empty
even though you have given me your all.
I jokingly said that I would hate it
to be someone else-
someone who would have to suffer me.
But before my face realizes what my heart meant,
where it becomes apparent in my eyes
that I am nowhere near recovery,
before I panic at being taken seriously,
someone cuts me off
with proofs supporting my observation,
with a list of my faults I may have missed,
with an funny anecdote about
about the time I was too broken to think straight.
I wish I had not broken into laughter when I put myself down.
I wish ‘laughing it away’ was a trick that worked in my life.
I was never mistaken that ‘tricks’
changes reality, builds back and heals
all that is in pieces and all that is in pain.
It’s just a way to turn blind to what I cannot change.
But walking blind is worse than I had thought.
I keep colliding with harmless words, bruise myself,
and recoil back in the fear of what I may find
if I took a step forward.
We sit here all day, in our own corners.
The only corner that we could save from the world that we left.
The only piece of happiness we decided to carry on ourselves
because we didn’t wanted to be considered pitiful for clinging to something.
Because once we thought that feelings such as these are only hindrance.
Because we saw love as lint on our fine clothing,
something that should be removed like weeds from the garden of our ambition.
Believed that if we are enough, if we have enough
we can always find new friends and new love.
In the wind, there always used to be a rumor of someone
drunk on past, the one who used to shout and sing at midnight
songs about how nothing new he bought,
no one new he gave his heart to
could make him forget
about all those he had turned his back on.
My friend, I am afraid we have become that same person.
And we are pathetic not because we loved too much
but because we couldn’t love anyone,
not even ourselves.