These hands you’ve held so dearly – I can still feel your warmth. These filthy hands, you held in your chest, these hands that felt the purity in your heart it cannot obtain. Shameless, you saturated me with feelings I could not conceive before. You took the air out of my lungs, and breath life into my lips. I was alive. You’ve made me feel I was in this world. The eternal grandeur of materialistic worth, you made worthless with your touch – I felt reborn.
Your eyes, your eyes that peered into the darkness of my soul. It stared with such admonition, the malice in me, you’ve made to disappear. For the first time, I took no shame in staring back because I thought it was the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen – for you’ve made me see what beings with eyes should see; you – a being of eternal glory and holiness.
I hear your voice, your voice which gave life to anyone that would hear it. Your voice akin to the sound of the morning sun – waking me up in my sleep, for a hope I should treasure because I knew that the tomorrow I have hoped for has been given to me. A classical overture of strings cannot fathom the opus of which is your divine sonata – a crescendo of infinitesimal intensity – an arpeggio of subtle complexity, a fantastic orchestra of emotion and absent of animosity – the last and only song I’d want to hear in my deathbed.
I can only but wonder how I’d spend the rest of my days now. I can only but wonder, how the pond would ripple – as you ran along the sidewalk. The pools of water, left behind the rain of which I am grateful of – the raindrops that shone on your pale skin; even the sky is weeping at your beauty – or is it crying because there isn’t anyone who will dance along the solitary tunes of a drizzle with such grace beholding of a being of absolute chastity which matched Gaia itself. I can only but wonder how the rain will stop now – for which I have been feeling water flowing in my cheeks, which then, you’ve wiped away and took it as yours. Inasmuch as I was your eternal rain, you’ve become my eternal sunshine – the only light that cast a shadow through my hollowness.
I can only think about the hands which fit mine, the lips that tasted like cherry wine, and the voice that used to say “good morning”.
I can only think you’ve been real. I can only.