A letter to the one……I..



I pulled the cover close to my apple that choked a dry tear, I started out like you always did. Love, its almost seven the time you used to create a tornado on breaking the schedule of being late. My inquisitive nature deeply hurt you like a silent razor layering your soft heart for apple pie…….

Now,it’s nearly dawn, I am still awake( or was I sleeping at all), Β hearing slow snoring of your dreams and hearing the murmur of daffodils you sowed last week. I wake with your sunflower’s warm breeze tingling my tear stained lashes constantly fluttering with ire. I never wanted to wake you but when you opened your eyes, the azure blue kissed me gently a deep good morning. I slowly smiled for that was the last kiss you gave closing yourself without a final adieu…

The chirrups of the sparrow outside your window screamed for a music of melancholy for not hearing your hums of morning bliss. I try hard not to cry and tell them, the soft daffodils buds by the stone that has risen with a hope of being a flower, to petal the engraving of your soul. Squirrels run above and below with acorn dropping over the stone so cold and I hear you giggle ( Did you?)

It’s late and I know you must sleep but I am the one who do not sleep while you slept forever over my dead heart. I silently let the tear soak the linen of my rose petals. The smell of your fragrance never vanished from the laundering as it’s stuck between the walls of separation under my eyes and small threads of rose linen.

I wonder if its dawn or night, cause its always night for me and sometimes a dull morning break. I wonder if its the favorite night gown you wear or the satin soft white having wings of heaven.

I try to open my eyes slowly like the way you taught me on my sick days and try my best to see you in front of me, but, I always end up without sleeping, never to wait for the dreams, to wake me.

I lay over the memories of you dried up like the tears on my cheeks so pale and the stone that has froze so bitterly, I can’t believe its seven years that you have let the daffodils to break open the soil and rise from the melancholy to scatter your favorite sunshine gold.


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