You’re a quintessential summer song
bittersweet, mixed with a soft humming.
How my heart beats, almost lonely,
without your hand in mine.
You’re that red wall with the window
from where the glitter seeps in
and turns me into a labyrinth of lights.
Forever the favourite one.
You’re that melodic old radio
that sometimes sings and
Sometimes makes noises like a hullabaloo
How do I love the noises and songs alike.
You’re an album of photographs.
If I open too much, I drown too much.
If I let it closed, my heart is closed.
When I speak to them, they sing back,
same way as you.
You’re like a secret box full of old books
that makes me a child
always running for you,
for the graves of your naive little poems
you saved from the world, dearly for me.
You’re like an evening walk.
I can blabber everything and not know
I spoke to another soul.
You wear my thoughts on your heart,
same way grass covers our harsh feet.
You’re like that swing I miss.
Every touch of you that I remember
swirls everything in my stomach,
like a pool full of fishes
embracing every drop of me.
You’re not you anymore
How joyously do I see us
A you and a me
running into the wild
with sky above us, infinite.