So what keeps you alive?

A fruit plate with

four big bottles of water a day,

some human reds,

some beatles,

some chirpy personas,

and a little man far away.


Holding the breath,

stops the pain – temporarily,

keeping to yourself,

stops the way I’ve been feeling – temporarily.

The words and the clock

still try to cut me open.

I am here – unsure if I can be saved.


I arrived a stranger to you,

memory of us, today and tomorrow.

The last time I wanted to talk to you,

the last time I wanted to ask you,

but I never did,

’cause you insist practicality.


Time wasn’t meant to be divided

into these fragments that inspire denial.

The rain keeps falling,

and all I hear is my voice telling another story

written in another time.


To fill up this empty air,

everything that has ever mattered

wasn’t there.

I understand that you can’t just go

around splashing breaks of love.

Your winter was lit by the sweater

you weren’t supposed to take off.


How do I explain these thoughts to you?

Some things that are already dead

may never die again.

And time itself will

make you learn, change and grow

like an endless sea.

You will submerge,

and if you will dive

a little deeper,

you’ll find me – I am no perfect rose,

but I still love you like the shining sunflower.


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