It's 1 in the morning and I'm sheltering a shivering heart.
My head is resting on a pillow painted in watery blots.
Like lipstick stains and spilling coffee cups,
streaks of stubborn tears
stamp their trail down my cheeks,
and the lump in my throat thirsts for an answer to this question I repeat.
I see myself asking you it on the phone or on humming streets.
Where we are in this dream doesn't matter - we're always passing strangers with hungry eyes and a history.
And I try to pretend that I find it all pathetic,
that I would never again dare to retrace relics;
but I'd be lying through the gaps in my teeth
like I have been since 2019,
and that if I could, I'd pierce the play with a 'why didn't you love me?'
It's not a surprise that I wear my impulses on my sleeve;
but like crimson lights on wedding nights,
something stops me every time.
Is it an alarming cry?
Is it my unbreakable pride?
Is it because you left me stranded without telling me why?
I reach for resolutions like a daisy seeking light.
And I could keep circling until it's crystal clear
that my devotion is the underlying theme.
Flush the years and I'll still be here,
chasing conversations and certainty.
So say something anyhow,
haunt my dreams, infest my flesh,
a little more madness couldn't maim me now.
And as blue as I am,
I'll still be waiting,
for signs across this wasteland.
Find me in any form,
as a message in a bottle or a wandering ghost.
Who am I to look to the sky
and ask for more than your reply?
Copyright © 2022 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved
Still not over you. Last verse is partially inspired by wuthering heights.
(p.s. follow me on instagram, if you'd like to @sykmusings ♡)