I wish there's also a meaning in the silence that lingers between us.
Hanging like a held breath.
I guess there are things too big for words.
Things you cannot simply put into symbols.
Things incapable of translation.
Sometimes they take shape.
In the form of spaces between two bodies.
Toothbrushes no longer touching.
Empty sofabeds on friday nights.
I guess there are things too big for words.  
In some kind of way,
there is no use for it either.
In some kind of way, i understand.
As if silence, was our mother tongue.
And we both spoke it a little too well

worry, has memorized my name.
it says it every night
and makes it hard for me to sleep.
i memorized the name of my worries.
i say it every night.
my heart was never ready
for the burden of names.
my mind collects these sounds,
until it softens into delicate murmurs.
someday, i will have to unlearn them.
until it becomes a dead language
i have forgotten to speak.

for you, ill tell the tales that your hands had left on my spine when we kissed .
how philosophy and language that the world stands upon seem to crumble
under the weight of two bodies
not ever wanting to let go.  
this is how i forget about the walls
that kept us apart for too long.
this is how we forget about the stars,
and leave the constellations on our backs.
this is how London bridge falls
as they all melt into the background.
as reality shifts into nothing
but lips, and an endless stretch of skin.
touching and breathing.
too much and never enough.
this is how i die and go back to life.
For you, a thousand times over.

you remind me of matches.
the matches that dont just kiss.
the matches that crave for friction.
we crash ceaselessly
and burn on each other's skins.
we turn into ashes.
and do it all over again.
you remind me of matches.
and how it feels to be something alive.

my neighbor likes her fresh laundry smelling like flowers.
the scent wafts through the air and hurts my lungs as i lay inside my room making what i sometimes call poetry.
today, i dont like it.
it reminds me of dying.
it reminds me of the flowers
that people who love me  will someday leave by my grave.
or even the wild ones that will grow out of it.
maybe there will be plenty
or maybe there will be none.
but today, the flowers had waltzed into my room
and people are dying fast enough.  
Today, im closing the windows shut.

what i know about my sadness is that it is clumsy.
i still keep finding the things
it left behind.
on places where it shouldn't belong.
and like a fool, i still claim them.

And i like to think
that the wind carries
our songs, prayers and silent pleas  and it ends up somewhere.
Maybe it moves the clouds
to other places
or sways the trees.
sometimes they rustle or shake
as if to answer.
as if to say ,
"we heard you, you are not alone"