I hold this photograph of you staring at a window pane,
Confused whether it is the sun illuminating your distant concentrated eyes,
or it is your face giving the sun something to shine about
because like the sun,
it is you who gives light in my shattering-verge midnights,
it is you why I finally found meaning in love songs.
it is you who has inspired me to write this lines,
it is you why I am smiling at the end of this sentence.
But as I sit here, still holding the same photograph,
I notice for the first time the figure sitting right next to you.
Her skin of dusty porcelain snow, almond hair melting as it flows freely
infront of her right shoulder,
Someone who is not me.
Someone who I wish is me.
And then it hit me, like a rogue bullet.
A sudden thought :
She's the reason why you're smiling in the first place.
I bled
and asked myself :
" Is your memory rightfully mine to keep?
Or is it ever right for me to call you mine in the first place?
and is it possible to love someone without touching him? "
I stare back at the the photograph and started crying.
