"Thinking of you. Wish you were here with me."
In the darkness of a steamy night, staring at the quiet ceiling on my bed, another sweet pain came but something else tries to tell me, "Hold on". I know. I'm not ready, but an inarticulate satisfaction adamantly rejected the warning and lulled me to a shallow sleep.
3:46am.
Miracles could be brought to you in the middle of the night. A soothing breeze opened my eyes. This time it was my conciousness. Took my cell, read your message once more, closed my eyes, and it happened. "1 New Message for You".
"Talking to you in your sleep makes me feel that you're mine. How I really wish you were mine."
The warning's gone, and I couldn't help but feeling the happiness sadistically that he was mine.
Summer visited me again and again, and I still wake up at three almost every morning although the miracle seemed to turn its back on me. Then tell me one thing. How many more times do I have to walk across the moment yearning for him like this? When will he let me go? A wicked midnight fairy comes to me and says mockingly, "This is a punishment. He'll never allow you to forget the night you fell in love with him. And you know it. You still want it so badly."
How pathetic I am to finally admit this silly thought; No, I don't want to forget anything we shared. I can't say goodbye to my sweet 3:46am, my miserable ecstasy of his whispers, kisses and sighs. I can't let it go even if you don't love me anymore. I won't let it go even if I'd have to be alone forever.
Do you think it's myopic? No, it's not. This is just a true love.
I like the narrative fracturing--the jumping between text messages, sleep, the stream of your own consciousness. Heart ache and longing may only be speakable in spurts of longing and waiting and wailing for answers. Why? Why? Why? And the universe just shrugs, as if to say: because.
ReplyDeleteI hope you don't wait too long. There's so much else to write about these days. Empires falling and all! Write more!! =)
There's nothing sweeter than the comments by a great poet. It's a folic acid to a female writer, Charlie. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteI'll write more, and I'd love to read your poems more :)))