B r ok
                                en  Hearts,
you try your very best

with those unspoken, silenced words etching into your rib-cage,
unconscious smiles with dazed eyes of sweet, sweet memories blanketing your vision,

to jigsaw them back into something like before.

Before, your eyes winked at mine.
Before, your fingertips said shy Hello's to mine.

But really, it is just
pale, pale imitations.

Just wait till someone colours it

red.

It will be lovely,
no
lovelier.

I promise.

I miss the cookie crumbs that fell from your lips and then dotting the wooden table.

It drove me
crazy-insane.

Thing is, it was good crazy.
The one where undiluted happiness bubbles into your chest.

Inexplicably lighting up places you thought the light switches
were
terribly
br ok            
                       en.

Now,
I am
slowly and surely
losing it.

Wit by wit, memory by moment(s).

Truthfully,
I neither have a lucid nor clear recollection of how we first met.

How my little heart took its fall blindly,
with wisps of hope edging around it,
don't you dare ask.
I don't know myself.

It's that one moment hazy and crinkled at the edges,
but its the very one that we adore when
it plays peek-a-boo
on
rainy days.

It is the kaleidoscope of little memories ribboned together that slowly unravel,
and
begin
to
dance on your closed lids.

All I know is there is a

beginning

& and &
no
end.

Not just yet,
not
in
*forever.

"Not everything about you, sweet-heart, is weird.
A wink flits into a mind; this gorgeous upside-down moon crescent.
It does not matter, (like a comma, his fingertips said a shy hello to hers.)
if one's eyebrow is slightly more arched than the other
or
there are freckles dotting your skin
No.
Don't you ever think it is a defect.
It is not.
Please do not protest.
If you wish to go down that way, hm, then
it's
the most imperfect, lovely perfections
that has
nudged & tickled
my heart once,
twice & ∞
"

To finish his sentence, he kissed the tip of her nose like a full stop
.

And with just one little word, or was it a few?

Warmth and balminess became ice & wisps of cold.
Laughs became little sobs; gasping for air for all the wrong reasons.

A
home
does
not
seem
quite
like
it.

It feels like unravelled ribbons.

Painted grey & blue hearts.

Tears on dinner plates.

Cold tea staining raw, chapped lips.

Your breaths merely touching your bare ribcage.

Empty, emptiness simply seep into your veins,
the spaces in your skin, then the ones in your heart
and
in the
very words
you
speak.

I cannot close
my
tired, tired
lids
over
it.

Please just carefully pick up the jigsaw pieces of my heart on the floor.

Yes, I can put it back.
No matter, how much time etches into my very skin.
I
can
do
   it.

I just feel that if I can see the dust-motes on my shoes, I won't be able to get up again.

Just, please?

Please, also,
look at the little pieces too.

See your finger-prints on it; that was from the first time your fingertips kissed mine.

See that little memory crumpled and creased saying 'Hello?'

Whisper
a
soft good-bye.

*Please, sweets?

I am so in love.

I draw love-hearts within love-hearts.

Now, let me just hide my crimson cheeks and the flickers of shyness behind those
white,
white covers.