My dearest, Ophelia
My dearest, Eurydice
My dearest, Cressida
My dearest, whoever you may be
It didn't matter,
I thought it didn't matter.
I was wrong,
I was always wrong.
But I love you
The feeling weeds deep into my heart
Corrupting, distorting my art
You know me, I can rhyme in a day or two
But not now, not for you
Because I love you
I still do,
I wanna slow dance with you.
That's the song I'm listening to
As I'm writing this for you
Remember what I told you?
I said a lot of things
I kept a lot of things,
But you were always on my mind
Never made schedules cause you would be in mine
When I wake up I know you don't normally wake up as early because you sleep late
When we're sad none of us wanna talk about it so I wrote all the tragedies for you
The moon reminds of us of each other and our restless state
And I trace the stars for metaphors about you
"You were the constellations in the sea of stars, and I was the astronomer who I admired from afar."
We're the moon and the stars in the night sky-- and science taught us that the sun is really a star
"Death was not cold. Death was the moon set ablaze, doing nothing but loving the sun. "
I feel you in the essence of everything that's gone
I feel you in the raindrops that were scarce in the deserts
I feel you in the ink droplets of papers
I feel you in the winds that once swept through my hair
And I feel you in everything that's still there.
I feel you in the vibrations of songs that make me think of you
I feel you in the beat of my heart, the sound an accompaniment that goes unnoticed till it's gone.
Ba da da dum
I feel you in the 1, 2, 3, counts of ballroom dances
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I feel you in the sound of tapping— of approaching footsteps.
Each tap reminding me how much I miss you.
Chatter. Chatter.
I feel you in all my notable conversations,
I turn and have the need to share it all with you.
But you're not there.
I feel you in every crescendo and decrescendo— you set me aflame every time.
I feel you in the colors, the red of you, the blue of me.
Red, more than love, more than blood, more than passion— but you. You are perfect to me, not because you seem perfect, but because I say so. Every nuance, every mistake, every little wrong you do, I love it every time. Even if it would ever make me upset— I would love it every time. Because it's red and it's you.
Purple, a regal color, a mix of red and blue. A mix of us both. We're a good team— and when we're split apart it feels like a part of me has forcefully tore apart. I cut you a piece of me, a piece of my heart.
Blue, more than sadness, a feeling of nostalgia. A longing for something that's so good but deep down you knew it wouldn't last. So, you preserve it into a painting, the blood and sweat of an artist. Immortalized and beautiful.
I feel you in my poetry, in my rhymes. And without you it's all gone
I'm left with asymmetry.
