I remember last night
waking up from a monochrome dream
only to slowly melt into another.

It rained, if I recall.
The petrichor breezed in
through the creaked window
dissolved with a touch of your fragrance.

I felt warm, fuzzy breaths over my shoulder.
Your muffled words echoed
within the the white noises.
You told me stories about raging wars,
faught and lost on the grounds
of heart.
And as the flowers froze outside,
I drifted into rainbow dreams
amidst your long lost warmth.

Why don't you visit more often, I asked.
Rainbows are beautiful because
they appear seldomly, you said.

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I have written such songs about you
the tune of which is rebellious
but never forgotten,
the lyrics of which are forgotten
but never destroyed,
and the love of which is destroyed
but never empty.

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And it hurts when
you know that people
are closer to you
in your memories
than they are in reality.

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You can see the cracks within yourself as voids,
as emptiness that is here to stay, creeping through your veins, reaching to every part of your melancholic body, until all that you're left with is a space as big as the universe.
Or you could see them as the places you'd put a billion stars in, scrambled into galaxies, dancing in their own light, self sustaining - a whole new universe.

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It is okay if people don't understand
your healing process.
You won't see them
when you'll be flying again.

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You're not done with the story
unless you've read the last page.
It all may just change there,
the twist you were not ready for
but the ending you were hoping for.

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I do not shine as bright as the sun,
nor do I change shapes or flicker
in the night sky.
I am just lingering around the horizon,
always there, but never seen,
come find me in twilight.

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There is a unique aura in silence altogether.
It doesn't bend or take shapes
or have different forms as words.
It's rigid.
Words may be all that powerful,
but silence is no less devastating.

-

I see you from a distance
and rush towards you,
as fast as I can.
I gush against the winds,
accelerating towards the edge,
as you grow bigger and bigger.
You are there, standing with
arms wide open, at the horizon,
beyond which I don't know what lies,
for I've only ever lived on this side.
My heart thumps and I take longer strides
as the smell fom the other side
chills my spine.

Almost there.
I stretch my arms, trying to reach you
just a nanosecond early.

Nothing.
My hands are emptier than ever before,
for the creases that made your name
are no longer there.
You are gone, in that one nanosecond.
And I end up being that one wave
that never reaches the shore.
Again.

-

Sometimes, there's so much to say,
but you know that even your shadow isn't around
anymore to listen.
There's so many feelings to unpack each day,
but you're already weighed down by the ones
from yesterday.
So many nonsensical thoughts jolting through your brain
that you're not even sure anymore which one is truly yours,
of the real you - whoever that was.
When the words are just piling up in your throat,
choking you from inside, while the world wonders.
When they rush up and down your veins
and almost start oozing through your scars,
when you want to believe that you're not just another sad story,
and when everything becomes hazy,
and you feel you're dreaming
that you never really existed.

That's when you write.

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