i never got tired of how you wake up in the middle of the night,
carefully walking out of the room
and taking a clandestine peek
again back inside.

complimenting the moon and the stars were a constant thing for you
during the unholy hours;
they shine ever so brightly,
illuminating the tears you had shed
when you told me what your
biggest regret was.

you loved everything
that didn't love you back and
maybe that's why you get so attached
to anything that kept you
above the treacherous waters,
preparing itself to engulf you
in an endless
mirrors of conundrum.

i never got tired of how you sleep with the lights on
for you hated the portentous silence
that lingered and never
seemed to leave.

but you were a paragon of paradox,
contradicting everything you speak or
do. i do not have a firm grasp on
what you really
intend to say.

and perhaps,
that was the one thing i
got tired of.