Hope

Cohesive metaphors

I know you can never forget me. One of the chapters of my life that you painted black. Here's an endless stream of whirpool narratives to kill you.

In the summer night, we were dancing with the cold breeze. The stars looked at us with wonder. Your arms held my waist and my feet followed every move you made. The furtive glances we shared were a deep implied exchange of I like you's.

Just as we finished dancing with silence, you walked me inside the door of your room. Just as you took off my cardigan I raised my eyes. And right there, I was mesmerized. The patterns of your brows I always memorized; that kissable lips I always dared to kiss; that small wrinkles that formed beside your eyes as you smiled at me. I was in deep fondness seeing the details in your face that I draw in my notebook - the page where you used to trace with your fingertips at the printed name of mine.

The stars glowed their affection, writing our intimate chapter in the universe - not even a blackhole could detach us from each other's sealed kisses.

You dive in to me; traced every spot you could lie in. And I was dying to see you so passionate with every tempted desires and love combined. I gave you my old sweater from the very first day. And you still had it with you ... even after we parted ways.

Perhaps it was a fleeting moment. Or perhaps it was my own driven fantasies that lingered in my life, subconsciously detaching myself from reality as a frustrated writer. Perhaps it was your familiar warmth that intentionally made me a puppet of your own desire.

Who to blame?

But you were on your knees, saying all those sorry's I've longed to hear. And I knew that it wouldn't change a thing; not even a broken glass could be stiched and form into another shape; not even a wounded heart could be mended by your countenance that used to sway me.

You made me your own. When we were united with the stars as the witness. When we were locked in every kiss, I knew you felt it too.

But you broke me in half. I was left with your imprinted traces. With the fingerprint of your hands intertwined with mine. When you pinned me against the wall and poured me with love I knew it was all true.

But perhaps it was my fantasies, subconcsiously detaching myself from reality. Perhaps the signs were written there that I refused to see. Perhaps it wasn't all true - You met me halfway only to leave me in pieces and lost in the sea.

But you still have my old sweater from the very first day. Because I know that you remember it all. When you held my hands and danced with me. When our bare feet touched our toes and moved slowly with the rhythm of the wind. You kept the memories sealed in that sweater of mine. You still remember my scent that lingered there because I know that you remember it all so vividly. And it reminds you of innocent laughters and exchanged glances in the summer.

And you keep it. You still do. And you can never get rid of it because it reminds you of me.

With my scent in your nostrils and my hands carved in every touch of your skin, you can never forget me.