A fatal flaw we were, from the beginning,
so beautiful yet brutally violent.
we come and again we go,
like the waves meet the shore.
always believed we were the,
unsinkable.
but honey, we were the Titanic.
lost beneath the waves,
like the Atlantis.
who will come us save us now?
when the whole edifice was built,
on a wobbly ground.
What do we do now?
with the little things you remember about me,
the little things I remember about you.
the mole on my chin, the freckles in your wrist,
the theatre we went, not for the movies,
where we whispered and did some dirty things.
the inside jokes, we can’t joke about now.
What will all it be?
just a ghost,
Memories.
We should bury it somewhere deep,
deeper than the Mariana trench,
a tombstone that says,
“What all we couldn’t have”
till it reaches the depths of hell,
where my demons fall for yours,
like a match made in heaven.
But you keep coming back to me,
like some repressed memory,
I don’t want to look back at.
I come around, like some mourner,
bringing back flowers.
maybe in a parallel life,
where stars and the cosmos,
favor us, when all is fine.
we wouldn’t be in that place anymore,
down some kind of unearthly loophole,
where the spirit meets the bones.
Got every last bit that’s left of you,
inside the palm of my hand,
even when it’s handed to another.
your face is all I want to see,
when he’s all over me, in his,
bedroom, touching what’s yours only.
no matter what, no matter how,
wouldn’t even care,
even if he found us out.
What can or will I do?
when I see that old theatre,
or some wrists with freckles.
I will come running to you,
even when he doesn’t let go of me.
You’re my green light,
at the end of the dock.
let me draw a celestial map, make my stars,
and yours in the same constellation.
wondered about a what-if, irrational yet haunting,
what if I am the green light you’re searching for?
we can go back, ceaselessly into the past.
Come, my love.
You will see me, where we left off,
dancing to your memories,
now a ghost lingering all over me.
live with all our moments and midnights,
that died.
aged as a widow,
sitting by our gravestone,
with a single red rose,
but weep for the living.
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