An artistically woven
turquoise woolen
pullover made
out of the finest
moher fabric
made my day.

Made for you,
to be caressed
and cherished
as a perfect
garment.

It looked so good
on you, my darling!

Rainbow colors always
bring me happiness and
I gently touch you,
feeling already safe
as a deer in a flowering
forest; within narcotically
scented alluring hug, we
embrace again, tightly,
you and me, entwined.

Whiffed winds melody
played through tall pine
tree tops as a flute song
swaying branches. It seemed
as they are affirming our walk
along the shore, where the river
meets an ocean, hand in hand,
peacefully.

And, yet, every time the
strong cool breeze exposes
your magnificent masculine
figure in that woolen top,
my coolness faints into the
void and dissolves itself.

Our urge emerges!
I feel your fingertips touch
as a passionate flame dance
over my face, you turn my
head up toward your loving
gaze, wanting it so much,
slightly pulling me up
then burning my lips.

Our hurried steps are heard,
echoing as a rushed tempo
on the salty path, fresh air
lingers around us, leading
us to our charming summer
suite, to undress. And love.

He.
Him.
Us.

We were never meant to be,
And yet
I keep going back to that place
Where we used to laugh
And frolic among the emotions
Of true happiness,
Even if only for a moment...

I can't paint it picture perfect
As if it has been instilled on my heart,
And then smudged away,
By the tears of the heartache,
As he loves another.

He. Will never know of how much I long for his touch.
His. Attention belongs to another.
Us. Well, we shall never be the same again.

If only he knew how I thought of him amidst the day.
If only his touch could bring the pain away...
If only I could say, that there ever was an us.


If only I could say it was real.

It seems that the only lips to speak my
name
in longing,
are those that hide

in my head

The only creatures that ask for me
for more than just a friend,
speak to me
from

under my bed

The only people who hate the world I live
are those who live

within.

what scares me is that i cannot differentiate between true feelings
and the mere belief of some feelings

And when the bell tolls, as expected, I imagine
an unconvincing ending and quick new beginning
fighting my instinct that tells again and again
it's just a nonsense we force ourselves to embrace
obeying an illogical prompt never once questioned

It's tears of joy
My eyes water in the morning
When I see your face
I'd be pinching my hand
Is it true .. You are next to me?
Boy I am so happy to see you
Wow I can't believe it
How did you get here?
If you are you .. Please speak ..
Let me believe that you are next to me
What a lovely smile you have
That innocent girly look
Your so quiet .. and staring at me

Dear you,
I was never so swell at writing letters
but it seems that everyone is writing love letters these days
to the eyes they see as windows
to hands they see as safety nets
to thoughts from another head that help them make sense of all of it

and I don't think I've ever truly fallen in love before you
which makes a lot of sense since I always adored things that are imaginary
the mystical nature of it all
so I'd escape to the thought of your non-existent existentialism
that helped me feel some sort of cloudy comfort
I love clouds..
and love loves clouds, I mean it lives in number 9
and maybe this letter belongs with number 9
a cloud I haven't jumped to yet
because its a forced chronology
not matter how much I try to transcend space
8 was close, but we wont talk about that
because there's not sense in it
but i've also been told that love is a blissful repetition
of soul elation and heart sensation
and see, I told you
you whimsical daydream of a nonexistent fantasy
I told you that I was no good at love letters
because the best one ever wrote
lives in infamy in red roses and blue violets
it's just a think those lines are such a violent antiquity
but my words will never live up to such a sense of sensitivity
so as to be spend a life of monotony trying to make sense of it you see
I digress
where were we
I'm suppose to say I love you and I see no days without you
because you're my sunshine on a rainy day
but old rhymes and tired lies plague my listless rhymes
i swear im tryin'
you can't take to pleasing a mystery
with coyly placed tries of a tease
I might as well tie off my hopeless pleas
but please, don't write me off like the endless words in this tireless rhyme
because until the time rolls around the corner for my wandering thoughts to take form, you'll live in these hopelessly hopeful tangled letters
to you, the one I haven't met yet

She entered her son's bedroom and found him playing hide and seek.
"Shhhh mommy. Don't make a noise, he'll figure out where I am hiding."
His mother smiled and ruffled his hair, "Okay sweetie, just come downstairs for dinner when you're done playing."

"Honey, what's our son up to?", her husband asked her while reading the newspaper.
"The same like always, playing with his imaginary friends.", she laughed.

Inside the cupboard, their hiding place, they whispered slowly.
"Don't tell mommy that we play together, she'll think you're crazy."
"But you're my brother, I am sure they'll be very happy."
"No. You don't get it, for them I'll always be the dead baby."