And I am not in the mood
to look at the moon.
Show me the sun
in the hours of its rise
so my eyes will pay the price
for letting the memory of you
vanish from their dark irises;
those which will burn
along with the sun
and will have a reason to cry
while looking up to the sky.

Even now, after all this time
when I see you in the streets
my heart skips two beats.
You haven’t changed a bit
since the last time
you were holding me.
I’ve come to know by heart
the freckles on your nose
or the way you struck your pose,
your countless random gibberish
with that soft voice I’ll always cherish.
Oh tell me now,
how can we be strangers now
if I know you like I know me?
If I love you like I hate me?

Because fear
becomes essence
only if you let it be.
So stop seeing it
as a reliable friend
to whom you confide
how scared you are
of happiness.
Instead,
talk to your joy
and let it convince you
how fearless you are
of the fear itself.

You are the air
which fills my lungs.
What a pity it is
that I am asthmatic
and find it hard
to let you in.
In an eternal effort
to breathe you whole
I end up searching for you
in every spot of my
tyrant anxiety who
prays for us to be apart.