It feels so sad
How people can stay with you
To make you smile
Even for a while
But you know for sure
That they won’t be there
To spend their time with you
The golden statue of the prophet sang
And raised the pool of blood on his hands
Chanting as I walked
Towards the feathered grave
Its eyes followed me as I walk
Its mouth grinned and chuckled
Then the gates of bones have opened
And a hooded figure welcomed me
It was the reaper, the prophet’s best friend
I’ve been dreaming about you for nights. And I still don’t know exactly why. My mind may have already forgotten all the tiny details — your scent, your dress, and the places we’ve been to in my sleep — but the sensation is still fresh. I can still feel your warm embrace; an embrace I never felt in years. And you were there staring at me, holding my hands as the tight as the bond between us.
I had the best nights of my life.
Those were the best nights of my life.
My eyes were cast
that my hands were made to grasp-
it was too blue
until I knew behind darkness was wonderful.
I wanted to feel what true colors are
but they say, colors were just meant to be seen…
The atmosphere between them was not as calm as the weather from outside. Both were feeling tense, though they didn’t know why. It must have been the coffee — or maybe something else. But there they sat quietly; eyes distracted by the clouds drifting faster as the seconds go by. A deep breath to break the silence. Then, their eyes meet.
“You know what, I’ve been thinking,” the man said while lightly shaking his cup of coffee as if stirring its brewed content.
“About what?” the woman said.
“What if ‘us’ happened?” he looked at her. “Would we still be together?”
She looked down. Then back at his eyes. The same pair of eyes she longed to see again for a very long time.
“You know, that question has also bothered me for eight years already,” she said with a faint smile on her face.
“Really?” his face had a mixed emotion of hope and disbelief.
She looked at him and gave a slight nod.
“For all those years,” he said. “I always wanted to talk to you.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asked.
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That you might not keep your word.”
He looked away and held his cup with both hands.
“That you might still reject me even if we settled to be just friends,” he continued.