Each delete is a jabbing pain,

A dull baton pressing, suffocating, smothering the heart to silence it.

Jab-

At the life that could never be

Jab-

At the throbbing ache within

Jab-

At memories now turning sour

Jab-

To muffle the affection of each picture

Jab-

Out of sight out of mind

Jab-

Trashing evidence and burning bridges

Jab-

The leaves on the tree have now a different shade.

They were green and orange and red.

Now they are green, orange, red and ache.

Not dark, deep ache.

Ache with a tinge of nostalgia.

Light.

Something between missing and longing.

Not so light that it stands plain against all other shades

Because that new one,

that ache,

though light,

stands starker than the rest.

The leaves on the tree have now another shade.

Green, orange, red and ache.

Light, conspicuous ache.

I measure my worth

by the texts you’ve sent

and the texts you replied.

Every one I’ve sent

that weren’t replied

is a demerit,

a subtraction,

of the tiny hopes

the merit points have built.

Like hitting a snake on the game

(there are no ladders though)

and every lack of words from you

is that awful step that slips

down.

And though I hope to climb up again

slowly

I think I wish more than that

for this game to end.

(Or maybe not.)

My dear,

Let’s dance.

This fleeting  closeness and keeping a distance.

This pretence of looking and not looking.

This accidental and unaccidental touch of your hand, your elbow, your thigh,

And you’ve never shrunk back.

This constant stream of what-ifs and what-if-nots.

This guessing and ensuring.

This mysterious dance around both our hearts.

Staring at white slabs

On white columns

That’s better than

Staring at you.

Just in case,

In between jokes, tales,

And enthusiastic laughter,

You’ll see in my eyes

The overwhelming desire

To invite you into my life.

I sleep, in sleep perchance to dream a dream

to see, to live, that which I cannot live.

Sometimes of ghosts and thrilling mysteries,

to wake in racing, violent thumping beats.

Sometimes of buildings, large, uncanny, real,

to wake with wonder, bewildered and confused.

Sometimes of faces, strange and odd and queer,

to wake, and, disoriented, shake my head.

Sometimes of you and I in love and then

I wake, to smile, to sigh and then to cry.

I sleep, in sleep perchance to dream a dream

to see, to live a love that cannot be.