how strange has the time become
i can see it moving through the windows at dusk
when the light outside suddenly turns yellow i think
i think of the yellowish undertone of the hairs in your bed
of the futile smell in the park
of rinsing and how thunderstorms come to wash us clean
but they never come;
afraid of death maybe, afraid of what could happen
maybe if you sat next to me long enough you would see
that i didn't come here to protect you or enslave you
i didn't come here to make you feel alive.
it was more of a way of introducing myself to softness,
learning how to care even when there's nothing to lose.
in some aspects this has been my life's achievement
but in others, i mumble incessantly, hoping not to fall deep into regret
i will continue to write these words
even when the winds lose them
when they are scorched to dust by the sun
then a soft murmur from the mountains
will bring you back to me.