I feel lonely.
My hands slipped in pursuit of yours,
Where you no longer are.
I got to witness the happiest shade of white when we rambled on and roamed around, did I ever tell you that?
I felt the desperation in my soul taking the best of me, urging me to move away from those agonising anxieties.
As I imagine you being mesmerized by the beauty of those starry nights, lost in the song of some Nightingale that sings in a distance the tunes of tranquility,
Stroking the petals of daisies drenched in golden hues falling tenderly in that hour of twilight,
That the substantiality of your surrounds overshadows my incorporeality,
That you cannot hear the ethereal echoes alluding to our times over these hushed whispers about the screaming sinners.
In one of these impassioned nights like these, we allowed our souls to spill stories we had kept hidden inside for centuries, do you remember that?
We howled in inaudible murmers, about passions for poetry, hunger for freedom, the craving for being a part of something bigger than ourselves, expressed out fears about those forevers that flicker, wondering aloud if it was love that would fill this ceaseless abundance of nothingness.
As I find myself falling in that very abyss of emptiness,
The gap between my fingers seem interminable,
Your presence impalpable,
These tears that tear me apart vaporize and I wonder,
If at least they’ll find their way to you through the West wind,
If not my words or my love.
I feel lonely, and your absence seems inexplicable.
I know not how to survive this dearth that seems to remain,
I can only imagine you revelling over some reverie, over some ephemeral eclipse, as blossoms blood and fireflies glide in that stillness.
If my words reach you a little too late,
That my despondence felt desperate,
Apprehensive at these anticipations,
That it wanted nothing but to be held and reminded of our promises, of us, craved for the touch of your hand against mine.
Know that you were the last dream of my soul,
And my last musing,