A night with someone's lies
A pouring night, and on my windowpane—
soft knocks of rain, low murmurs of wind.
Now and then, a white ribbon sparks
within the clouds,
a silver eye peering through,
snapping portraits of my timeless, dark, cold room.
A slow, nostalgic wind begins to swirl,
stealing breath from my chest,
leaving me drunk,
dizzy with memory.
Somewhere, a woman sings in opera—
peaceful butterflies whirling in her throat,
her voice undulates like waves upon the sea.
She grazes my gaze,
her throat a trembling tide—
yet every word, a lie.
And still, I listen.
Still, I ache.
How cruelly sweet it is—
that some lies become someone’s nostalgia.