• mihika_ 64w


    Felicity, this is to say,
    that I've been trying my best to
    bring you back, and
    this desire to do so
    was born with the advent of
    my failed experiment
    to grow yellow wisteria for a
    grade, since then
    I have been trod over with
    a childish desire to embrace you
    once again, to feel the mist in
    your eyes with you, to dance
    to the songs you dance along to
    on a midsummer night.
    You've almost always been lost
    in my locality, and I must've told
    you a hundred times that a U-turn
    and two right turns is
    all that you need to take, or
    maybe this is something
    that I've told myself.
    It's probably for the best, because
    the painters screwed up,
    and they painted my house blue
    when I asked them to distemper
    it with yellow, or perhaps this is
    something I told myself once again,
    old habits are meant for dying hard.
    The paint is still wet and when you
    try to knock on the door it smears
    your hand a little, or a lot, depends
    on the knocking and sometimes the knocker.

    I first met you in an
    arbitrary backyard during autumn
    and I remember you plucking a safflower
    and planting it in the space
    between my hair and my ear,
    and I let a giggle escape me instead of a sigh,
    and I watched you turn your heel in
    the opposite direction
    and I never saw you face-to-face
    ever again,
    this is all I remember of you
    because I am nothing
    but of letters dipped
    in wine to prevent them from ageing,
    and I do not know why I tell you this.
    Everything aside, I realised that
    to make you mine directions weren't
    enough, and when this hit me
    I let my sorrow gratify
    the hole in my chest
    and went mad
    because I didn't know what to do.

    Days passed, infinities elapsed, suns drowned
    and one moon,
    I ran out of my home to witness the skies
    and found them
    sobbing violently with a heaving chest,
    darker than what i could've ever see in
    my lifetime.
    I let fear push buttons in my head
    that I never knew were present
    and then saw a hurricane in a corner
    pirouette tipsily, turbulently,
    with threads searing through
    its demure chest
    I summoned an icarus
    and felt my heart sink
    as i watched it fall down
    like a stone from the skyline
    and held my hand up demurely
    hoping foolishly
    that it would entwine with it
    As the darkness forced down
    a demure chuckle and a dry laugh
    because in that moment,
    it was the only one who knew
    all of this , it
    was a tapestry
    painted by
    the pain that settled
    in the void of your absence
    in convoluted shades that are
    manipulated on sight
    {that are all the rage these days}
    and my hysteria was but
    a great source of entertainment
    to the heavens; placid and level-headed
    with faces kissed by cherry blossoms

    and I do not know why I tell you this.

    Felicity, in all truthfulness,
    I am on the cusp of
    dangerous sobriety
    Your breath, my breath.
    Your skies, my skies.

    come swinging through
    these demure gates, I
    plead of you,
    and save me while you
    bring with your divinity
    sun-kissed dawns
    and cherry-coloured light.
    Save me before
    the thousand and one tales
    on jet black nights I etch nimbly
    emerge from my mind
    and engulf me
    with their silhouette.
    When I drown in the
    raging sea,
    and cannot hear my own voice
    over the roaring of the waves,
    run after me madly and
    call out my name like you
    never have before.
    When I crash and crumble
    on my knees
    after the rubble
    from the blue walls I tried
    to destroy on my own
    inflicts upon me injuries deeper
    than I could've ever imagined
    and I lie face down, trapped,
    ready to become the carcass
    I knew I would be,
    save me, Felicity.

    You are the poem
    I fantasise to write about
    and frame on my enclosures of
    my home.
    You are my pain,
    my grief cooling down
    after they've been set
    on fire a thousand times
    all painted in yellow.

    A prayer that I would chant
    without hesitation
    that doesn't need
    an 'amen' for ratification.

    You are why I
    roam the streets
    when the clock strikes 12
    not for a pill or a thousand
    but to think
    to think the musings of a child's mind,
    touching the sky ,
    and kissing a million dreams
    wuthering and hanging by
    the stars.

    To stare back at the heavens
    in its finfigual entirety
    and then puckering my
    mouth into a little O.

    To steal fireflies in
    a glassy-eyed jar
    only to let them out again

    To write, to dream, to hope
    And to stare at the infinites of the world
    without being drenched in wrongdoing,
    And envy,
    And an arbitary feeling
    Of a blackbird's song
    tingling through my spine.

    Felicity, in all truthfulness
    Your hand is the anchor
    to this sinking ship.
    The strings that seep
    through our chests
    are the only thing
    that remotely connect us these days.
    And I hope that someday
    we improvise and
    manipulate these strings
    and turn them into
    pink kites
    we shall chase in the skies,
    And I hope that someday, Felicity,
    you shall become mine.

    With this, I shall leave.

    And with this,
    shall you leave?


    #tinsc (?) #felicityc #picturec
    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod
    This is really bad ( ・ั﹏・ั)
    But you all will not let me delete this T_T


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