And we sit on the porch steps our bare feet rest on cold cement the space between memories and contentment starts to occupy your lungs we watch the distant rain, still too premature yet you, in fear of the future run inside.
Hello, Hi, Good morning, Good night, Greetings my friends, It sounds like a chance Like a start of something new even when we're feeling blue they connect us with strangers and destroy the unknown dangers And then "goodbye" is there to end this whole affair To leave us in peace so I could write this piece I'm just a silly human writing a poetry who doesn't know how to rhyme- a tree
The end isn't supposed to make sense. It just points out the fact that sometimes being silly and not knowing what to write and how to rhyme doesn't really stop you from it.
On different days, He became different, And yet remained the same. He was amusing. He was otherworldly. He had something in him, Which made him eerily different.
He listened. He listened wholeheartedly. He was the only one, Who felt real. He peeked into thoughts. He responded in silences. He captured the soul and the heart, So effortless was his gaze. A gaze that brought smile, A gaze that brought stillness, A gaze that sparked question, A gaze that sparked wonder.
The rumbling in the chest Grows slowly Growling louder than the storm Swirling outside the door A procellous heart It thunders, lightning flashes Behind my eyes The half finished conversations Spills into an ocean of unanswered questions And I am drowning In the tempest of a broken heart
My eyes are fixed on you while you give a little of yourself away to me in small fragments of memory and I'm captivated by your voice recalling simple moments, harsher stories, funnier realities and all at once the air feels clean and bright and fresh like a breath of spring in the December cold that sparks with our connection.
I can't help it, it feels like spring when I'm with you