Love returned
and not taken
is like a perfume spilled over
your dress.
You cannot deny the scent
by hiding it
inside the closet;
You can only
wear the dress in the open air
for the smell to fade in time.
The next time you’ll
smell the scent,
it won’t hurt.
It will only be sweet
as perfumes are supposed to be.
My only question:
do you say this to everyone,
or
is
it
just me?
When you get to see someone chase their dreams, hear their voice brim with joy or the moments of resignations, you know it’s real, both the person and the dream.
You can almost catch the rhythm of happiness and failure, the moments of pauses in between.
You know how one could love something so real that their blood gushes in it. And you’d come to know that you too are that person – with a different set of dreams that were perhaps put on halt out of fear, shame, or doubt.
You realize if the same red blood can rush into someone else’s veins, then it could flow into you too. Dreams can come pouring out of your eyes, too.
It’s doable. Far from great, but doable.
That to see someone love something so much reminds you how much you love something as much.
I want to tell you
that today
there were more vehicles
on the street than yesterday
or the day before,
maybe five or six.
The asphalt wasn’t
made for the silence,
but it poses quite well
for the houses to see.
I want to tell you
that my neighbour across
has a hanging garden
full of purple flowers blooming.
Do they know that every day
I marvel at their flowers
and layered terrace with
an arch that has leaves growing?
I went up to the terrace
and wanted to tell you just these
mundane things.
