they watch every day that she's smiling less
they witness once a week that she's leaving first,
they wonder if she's ok or so
but no one has the nerve
to slow down the step
and ask
*are you okay?

do I cross your mind as much you cross mine?
are you thinking at a way to let the pride not stand in our way?
are you measuring the distance between our bodies
analyzing how to surprisingly touch my lips with yours?
or how your tongue can make a way into mine?
how long it will get for you to decide?

reading a book isn't about
reading good words carefully chosen
to create a magic display
of perfect scenes,
it's about feeling every moment and movement
that happens between covers
like that would happen in your present reality
and you're there,
ubiquitous,
deciding whether or not the action should continue.

the disputes between lovers should be about
what colour the wallpaper is best to have,
not about what each other may conceal
wanting to quickly reveal.

when I'm seeing that your features are sad
I'm not allowed to ask why?
when you speak less in evening when you leave
I can't beg you to stay for a little bit.
I can't read you like a newspaper
but I know that,
there are some days when you're keeping all inside.

they both are out of clever things to say
and that's why she's left alone
like in a tremendous storm.

she's covering her face and looking away,
she smiles with lips but cries with small eyes,
she begs with shaky hands for a bear hug
and he's not realizing that she is slowly dying
every day in front of him.

or maybe he's doing the same.
I'm sorry my friend, but
some relationships are ending before
you realize it has been ended.