The smell of ink and abandonment lingered in the air as I stepped inside the room we had scarred. Dust has found a home at last - a place where all your faults were accepted and my hope was never questioned. This is where we hold our entire world. This is where each second lasts everlastingly. This is where forever lives.

Tissues slept on the floor like confetti for my return mixed with crippled promises you have dropped and forgotten.The bedsheet lay awake, exhausted, weary, heaving the sigh you exhaled in a lock room - the smell of your desire, of my frustration, of our longing, of my name. I wonder if they had kept your heartbeat. I wonder if I could have it back.

I wonder if I could have you back.

The silence had preserved every single thing you have uttered - every word a bar, each sentence another lock. Your voice hanged themselves on the cobwebs, the cobwebs had consumed the space and you had filled me with wishes, longing and regrets. I have never expected you to say hello again. I certainly never shall. You never did. You never will.

We slept in our mask and redressed in denial.

Forever is still etched on the atmosphere. I can feel you touching the small of my back, paving your way through my spine, reaching your way to where the burnt maps, love letters, crumpled clothes and drawn out nights were. I can feel you possessing my nape. I can hear you whispering my name. I can see you piercing the night. Why do always you have to be so wonderful?

The scars you have etched on my skin breathe like stars on the pillows you have wounded. They glowed longingly for that smell of yours they’re acquianted with. They stood beyond eternity. The inteminable look in your eyes before you sleep had tampered the wallpapers - the audience of those nights we own, when everything was forgotten, including the world. The story of what if and what could have been filled the space between us - never allowing my arms to cling around your neck, never wanting you to kiss my ear, shielding you to find us on the swell between my *******.

The clock had stopped working.

At least it won’t steal my time.

Maybe I can sleep tonight.

Maybe we can be infinite.

Her hands enclosed his
around the railing
of the crumbling wheel.

She could almost taste
the sweat of the people
suspended in mid-air.

Their arms against their arms.
The sky
over their shoulders.

Birds flared past.
Past the windows.
Past the veins

which wrapped her fingers
which wrapped his fist
like a world

being encompass.

Through the half-opened door, I watched you dissolved yourself in the thousand places and hundred years in your book. The sun hadn’t gone out today, like yesterday. As you flipped the pages and contain love between your fingers, the cat beside you remained uninterested to the benign indifference of the world.

Your coffee had gone cold, cream flared indiscreetly like those letters I have written and never sent, torn to pieces, all bits screaming your name. I can hear the sound of your tongue licking your lips – you always do that, before you form your words. After I disappear with you.

The sound of my footfalls echoed and I watched it wrapped the wall, covered the hinges of the door, up on the roof, and then dripped on its edges, fell like rain, kissed the pavement madly, then broke irrevocably like hearts. In our sheer vulnerability, this is how we encompassed the world.

I moved closer and you disappeared in your secret self, again. Roughness seethed my palm as I invade the space you have fenced. I wonder if this curtain had ever questioned how long has it been since you last summoned infinity, with me.

In this dungeon.
That night.
When the stars were disarrayed.
When immortality was defied.
When heat was lingering on the wall, in the atmosphere.
When I dismembered the universe just to melt with you while the entire space is screaming at me to run.

You must have heard my plea, my open mouth just above your ear. You should have heard me, to never stop your lips from measuring the length of my neck, to never chain your hands set wild between my legs, to let me bury your hair strands between my fingers, to always encompass me in your scorching breath.

And then eventually,
To burn me away.

Please,
lay down
and lay still.

There's so much words
suspended in midair
and I have to select

only the greatest.
Understand that I only want the best for you
and nothing more.

I tremble
as I extend my arms
and choose the words,

the marks,
the phrases,
the sentences,

the scars,
the hearts,
carefully,

afraid that I might pick
the inappropriate star
for my weaving.

I want you to be the most beautiful constellation I will ever create.

And on that day you were born, my Sylvia, I murdered your father. So how you would grow up will depend entirely up to me.

I burnt his graceless flesh and mantled you with isolation. I threw his clothes on the window and buried his existence in the ground. Syl, sometimes you see him suspended in midair, I know, like a strange curve on the portrait, like a portrait wrapped in moth, like a moth perched on the wall, like a wall that doesn’t suit the architecture. But you never bothered to find out, good girl.

You were created in the course of the stars, on the backyard, my Sylvia and molded by flowers, so I must feed you with butterflies, drown you in poetry. You are the constellations I have disarrayed, the world I will dismember. You are the infinity, my love. You are the stretch of the ocean, the look in your father’s eyes before he sleeps. You are the incoherence of forever. You are the inconsistency of happiness.

My Syl, I fear that you will grow up, one day. You will leave this little cottage, and search for a better plastered wall. You will doubt my existence and those bleeding of the feathers. You will tear your skin and discover a new you underneath. You will find your crater of imperfections, you will be astonished, you will begin to wonder, you will begin to question and you will forget about me. You will begin to ***** my lullabies.

Hush, my love, and close your eyes. I will make you immortal. I will stitch you with stardust. I will cover your little lovely bones with perfection. I will smoothen you like a wax; you may kiss your scars goodbye. I will preserve your name with you, and lock you both in a beautiful cage. I will make you immortal. I will make you immortal. I will make you immortal. Like a prayer. Like a lovely prayer.

Your fist locked like a period, began the history, encompassed the world, the silent plea, the quivering resistance, the flickering flame; your little mouth in absolute surrender. You are the rigidity of my everlasting delight, the bleeding poppies in every battleground. Sleep, my Sylvia, sleep, and never wake up.

Stay infinite, my Syl, my sweet, my love. We are greater than literature. We are larger than biography. Always remember that.

Always remember that.

Always remember that.

Always
Remember
That.

As the police
arranged their shield
You stood upfront
and raised your fist.

Your demand
for humanitarian reforms
was answered by beatings
yet you resisted

and struggled
and clenched your fist
and waived your flag
as thousand marched across the streets.

Stones trailed behind you.
I'm glad you're not the type of woman
who burn a life
in the bar

in apathy.

All I remember
was the thin line
draping on my eyes
like curtain hovering around the horizon

and the dancing stars
of funny colours
all restless and reluctant
and the films keep

on rolling endlessly
and fading gracefully
in the fatal blackness
and softness

and coldness
of the pillow
crushing between my knee
and my chest.

But you promised to come back, long time ago.
You remember?