They told me the sky was too far to touch, so I planted it in my garden. All I ever wished was, for a perfect love story with a perfect ending. Perfection is a myth dressed in daisy chains and daydream. It looked so beautiful, like I was sleeping and this was the perfect dream I could reason to myself for a long slumber. I held on, like roots gripping the clouds and growing daisies in the sky that no one else believed would bloom. I let the sky grow in the softness of a “certain hope” always, while I pricked my heart on the thorns of “almost” and “not quite”.

-

It’s not just showering love. I want it to cascade in stages, from the crown on your head to the sole that carries the weight of you.

-

There goes the power of love I once held—the urge to kiss your bruise, is now just an embrace of nothingness and a quiet “sigh, wish I was there”, from the fading shadow of my own love.

-

The silence between thunderclaps held more truth than their noise— a pause, heavy with the weight of everything I didn’t say.

-

I trust love and I know it that it will come back to me. Even the little sunshine I give, will multiply exponentially and cast rays on me like I’m the sun’s sibling.

-

I am standing at the top of my heart, the one that mountained itself. I walked throught the path that once made me a mountaineer in emotion and in loving you. And I go back home without knowing where to find you. There was a way to my heart that could have also let you go easily.

But why did I choose to have you stuck at its dead end?

-

I chant your name in so much softness like its the only prayer my lips know.

-

Why were you the one I had to hopelessly fall in love with and have so many forevers that I failed, clutch me without letting go?

-

My numbness is a transcript of everything that I feel for you.

-

I say my name like it is yours. Remember when we were in love? I whisper your name to myself so much that you were living on my lips yet no one could see or feel. It is an intimate moment. Just me, and the memories of you. Rightfully I would call you out at any time when I felt alone so I could rent my head with you, and the semi-furnished thoughts that always stayed to create chaos. I say my name like it is yours. A forgotten love hampered with just too much noise. Fumbling and with a struggle of a teeny tiny guilt of failing, I spell only silence.

Because dear, this lips called out your name umpteen times, that now I realise when I say my name like it is yours, it is not mine anymore.

-