I haven’t trained to tolerate, but you are the discrete tale.
I haven’t trained to tolerate, but you are the discrete tale.
You learned how they called you strange for not stomping your feet on their ground, but I don’t mind stumbling over the uncanny garden of yours. With brown stained soles and our tainted souls, I will offer you my arms to guide you to where the breath is flowing since my life would be too much for you to carry. But I won’t tell you about the moment when I see your smile on every face covered in gray because the only thing I know is that I will forever wonder how it feels like to exchange warmth in between hugs we never shared.
Our world is crashing in two so where do we go now? Our memories are waving in just like the shore waves brushed over your skin this morning. And once again we realized that our stories have always been complicated from the very first time I tried to memorize your name. They said the blame is laying on both of my palms for I have found a resting place inside a scorching restless mind. Yet still, I would like to nuzzle my head to your chest, knowing that every beat of yours will sound like a graceful serenade.
And I would let the flowery road I’ve built withered the way I let our memories age as we grow older. You wear the rain on your sleeves and you held me with it so I could say that I was a part of you just as well, perfectly drenched in it. Our home is not a place since I would like to wander around while your heart is going places.
I will hold you while sending you off this time. For I know I will never have to say goodbye ever since you took traces of me with you and you keep it in your left pocket. For I have never known peace unless you greeted me with the heart I recognized and the voice that I long.
