when we close our eyes at night, it’s not only the moon that lets out a sigh of relief but those those too who stay awake at night, ensuring our daylight will dance many dances motivated by the moon, those too spot a smile on their stagnant faces.
Soon air started to chase me out my pass time with the moon, I’d come out holding steaming cup of tea and it’d keep tea’s breath while making mine sting, to breathe hurt like that, I started to only watch the night from my fireplace eye without the stars lullaby; watching where my thoughts find rest…
Should I tell you how many pages my fireplaces have eaten? because my hand isn’t like time, misplaces serenity that sky houses when stars are out and twinkles? Should I tell you?
the thing is, with you; no matter how much I try to lie to myself the lie can never be so beautiful it captivates me from the truth or too ugly it drives me away, never again to find my way back, with you; I’m always aware that
by your fingertips lie sterling chandeliers by my feet skeletons trying to hitch a ride, by your feet clouds prompting you forth by my fingertips lie presumed fulfillment,
jump, jump so your forehead and the moon could be equals; that air I breathed became one with nothing
what has taken form aside my need is longing how they convey and drag me into their midst, I can never lie about who I thought I’d be.
Yesterday for instance, yesterday I schedule my thoughts far at the mountain top to see beyond father’s head without help of a stool and our cracked floors helping hand but my longing won, when father came home only after I went to sleep.