Your lips make every word look like a kiss
but that’s not why I care,
There is a beauty in your grace
that makes my heart a little restless;
feel conscious of this distance between us.
But it’s the memories of your enigmatic mind,
traumatic epiphanies and scent
that make my lungs ache in remembrance.
Our affections were esoteric but felt right:
But when I learnt the pain of kissing your five fingertips goodbye,
I understood that some dreams
are better on the heart if left unrealised.
I knew the price of caring
but, John Doe, I loved you anyway
there is an unutterable beauty
in feeling at peace with the pain
– thank you.
You taught me that life is a slow death
but there exists solace in the chaos.
And then, Rebirth.
You live impossibly; loved consciously,
with a zeal and fervor so potent
that I was left breathless in its wake.
You were a hurricane that wrecked havoc to my insides
but moved on before I could whisper
— the saddest plea I have ever voiced,
made worse by its utterance to the vacant air.