night times call upon me with memories too tender and words too bitter to say aloud. but amidst all that, I am still dearly hoping. hoping for love.
because who am I, if not loved? who am I?
therefore, I keep praying.
I keep manifesting and daydreaming about a day when my hand will grasp your delicateness, and your soft smile light up the universe behind your eyes. I'm a bit foolish, I know. how could I know your words are ever for me? but love is truly a feeble thing. no, not even poets can know.
its meaning way more profound than this deep well I have dug out for you. I don't like hiding but for you, I will.
and perhaps our companionship may be rest assured. we can pretend there's no other reason as to why we stare a bit longingly at each other, or why we pay attention so much to the little things that shouldn't matter.
would it be a bad thing, though? I want to know you, dear, would you do the same?
we'll dance under the shade of this crooked tree, lay under its spell and whisper sweet, sweet love into each others' ears...
oh, of course it shan't ever be! I am a bit foolish, I know.
but if to you I am not, then will you share these dreams?
don't answer me now, because your eyes will tell the truth.
sweet, sweet lover — oh, however sweet you are.
YOU ARE READING
for me,
Poesíafor the very life God has brought upon me, for the happiness, the grief, the resentment and the anger in me, for being human; for being love.
