When did I first see him?
What did I even see in him?
I'll never know.
But he was a constant
for more than a year,
maybe two.
He stood taller than me.
And with a face,
Unforgettable.
He had eyes,
Fierce and sharp.
He had a face,
Unforgettably intriguing.
His words were unheard,
His thoughts unseen.
I never knew him,
but I did too.
Never could draw away
My treacherous eyes,
Staring at an enigma
with a belly a home
Of a million butterflies.
He was not special.
He was not perfect.
He didn't turn heads,
He didn't catch eyes.
But to me, he was.
He did mine.
Ironically, with the healing salve of time
and the washing waves of life,
All he will ever be,
is a distant memory,
Erased, distorted and blurred,
Incomplete, yet perfect.
because all he was,
Was an idea,
Mine.
In infatuated memory of The Infamous Snake Guy.
P.S. he's not dead.
YOU ARE READING
Window To The Soul
PoesíaWords merely are noises that we make and the sense we find in it. They are a constricted imagery to the river of thoughts, constantly battering the cage which encases them. Words are what we raise ourselves upon and what breaks us, only to make us...
