Sunday, January 25, 2009

I want to be one of the masks that you wear. I want to be a part of the masquerade too, you know. I want to be the song that creeps silently onto your lips when you're leaving for another of your wanderlust-satiating trips. I want to be the nothingness that you bury yourself in, sometimes. That darkness that cripples others, gives you security - I want to be that darkness and wrap you in my arms when in the dead of the ebony night, you are staring at the fan on the ceiling and wondering about your sepia-tinted evenings. I want to be the tear you never cried. I want to be that scar on your knee, the bruises on your elbows and the birthmark on the back of your left palm. I want to be the dim sunlight that falls on your face in the morning. Your train of thoughts. Your silence during our long long walks. I want to be the dischordant voice that lives inside you. And grows louder everytime you grow. I want to be your wanderlust, like I'm my own wanderlust. Those inklines around your lips, those old town blues that leave you a little like the storyteller you're in love with. I want to be the melancholy in your heart. Your jagged, broken smile when your world is upside-down. I want to be the laughter that follows you, everywhere, all the time. I want to be the one stolen kiss in the mundane crowds in this old dead town.

Yes, I want to be love. I want to be the voids that you leave in your sentences, that make you muse enough to be the poesy I try to pen down.

"How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here. "

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