I look at you as if
I am looking at a photograph,
knowing exactly what place
and season it was taken.
I look at you as if
I know exactly which parts
of your face get to be touched
by the light.
I look at you as if
my old capture of your smile
hanging bloodless
on my wall
is not the only role
you'll ever play in my life.

And then I write the letters,
kindly,
on a glossy paper
using the tip
of a good old highlighter.
But the aim will taste
only what’s vain
- that I know.
Because the aim is
to leave
a permanent mark.

When will you understand
the concept of my being here?
That I am here,
ready to interpret
your random glances
into dying for help.
That I am here
if you need someone
to lace up your shoes,
to dry away your tear-laden tissues,
and to save you from all the rules.
I am here. Notice me.
Walk upon the shelf
where I sit nearby and see me.
See that I am here
–looking past the people, promise,
and warmth just to snuggle my sight
unto its righteous home- that is you.

Still I ask, when will you understand
the concept of my being here?

I hope
you remember yourself
well-enough tonight.
Because we all know
how fireworks are proud,
and loud and glittery
while sadness is illuminating
at its own sky,
somewhere in the
year-long night
living inside you.

We were younger than our feelings.
We were far behind the perfect time.
We were searching for that hour
between midnight and the next minute,
only to know that there is no such thing
- not even a lie.
They said
"True love waits"
-but they didn't tell us
what will happen
after all the waiting.

I stand here too still
Like a tree in a meadow
Though trees are alive