It brightens and it peers,
as the heavens color my vision
purple then pitch black.
How quickly can the night shift in seconds?

Troubled by phantom dissent,
twin hearts linger at the footfalls
of imagined nightmares--
pleading for a reprieve, adrift in surrender.

Fear seizes the sharpest wit,
the bluntest tongue, and the weakest link;
it strikes while chaos is burning,
clinging at the absurd

yet

Like the sun inching towards the horizon,
steadily approaching,
something that makes flowers bloom on barren land
persists and prevails

Rising over shared temperament,
a silent plea--spoken through untold promises,
and furtive gazes,
traverses any trifling discord:

"I want to hold your hand."

I want to hold your hand,
until my bones are brittle to a crack,
and gravity is displaced
from the Earth, to you.

You spoke about stars,
until we were intertwined—
like constellations.

In distant memories
we captured in frequent glances,
fervent smiles,
and frantic heartbeats,
my hand used to fit in yours.
It embraced me in a promise
beyond romantic overtones,
that I will always have something
to hold on to: you.

In transient times
we measured in mutual doses
of affection and attraction
and countless conversations,
I had a belief that this would last long.
It conjured a warm familiar feeling
latched onto devotion,
that my heart would always belong
to someone: you.

In a tapestry of words
that were once true,
your voice reminded me of the possibility
that happiness can exist
in this vile and cruel world we live in.
It evoked a certain melody,
a symphony of inherent rhythm,
that I will always have the answer
to the question of love: you.

In sadness and in joy,
in sorrow and in bliss,
I still yearn for someone: you.

I used to know you,
but not anymore.

How do I measure
wanting to be held by you?
In desperation.

As darkness drops,
my thoughts remain in static motion;
stitching a collection of scenarios,
swimming against moments of respite.
How do I stop?

Like clockwork,
I walk along the impulse of mistrust–
swaying with the tides of yesterday,
in abject deflection of reason and sense.
How do I stop?

Behind these walls,
I have drowned honesty and sincerity–
burying unsaid paragraphs under pretenses.
Evasion has been my retreat.
How do I stop?

Because

in the face of truth,
defiance has been my answer.

How do I stop?