𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙.

𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

you are a canvas full of colour,

your body is a shrine,

you like the first drop of rain touching earth,

you make music out of me when you play with my hair,

you touched me without even touching me,

you voice made me feel safe as you cupped me in the blanket: your skin.

you are the love at first remembrance.

~𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩

on the last day of love,

i walked through the windy night

and let the same wind take my happy poem from me,

i drew the curtains of my room,

i closed every entrance,

i confined myself into the attic,

my psyche cried a war on the very skin i live in,

the memories bury me alive,

i dug the earth deeper,

walking through it,

the peace in my heart

felt like walking in a library after dark,

the chaos in my mind

felt like walking on the thorns of roses you gave me.

with every step on thorn,

my mind wrote a letter to you,

saying

“𝙞’𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙚.”

𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠

i drew out those curtains,

i let the broken pieces,

i tried to stick together in fragile unity;

𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠.

𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡

i drew out those curtains,

the light entering my room

felt like sunlit honey,

the peace around me

felt like the calm at the sea,

the voices in my head

didn’t echo anymore.

i let myself out of the attic

i confined myself into.

i felt free from the war my soul broke onto the skin i lived in.

as i panegyrise about this pain,

my head echoes once again,

“𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙪𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪?”

-A.