Of Quills and Empty Sheets

Imagination. Life Beyond. A Different World. All from MY MIND.

Tell Me

The air is cooler than usual,

sweeping my hair off my face.

I hasten with the world –

runners beside me; cars feet away.

I close my eyes and imagine –

a night more beautiful than this;

your smile, more sweetly than the one this morning;

your face, more serene than when you sleep.

I imagine – vividly, then clearly.

.

But you have to tell me.

Tell me how much it hurts –

and I will take your pain away.

Hold me – the way you always do,

and take a breath so deep until you forget.

You just have to give it to me –

and I will carry it

so you wouldn’t have to.

.

But you have to show me.

Show me how much it hurts –

and I will understand why you laugh,

I will understand why you turn away,

why you deny me your world.

Face me – the way you used to

and fold your mask.

You just have to make me see –

and I will wipe your tears off your face.

I will cry

so you wouldn’t have to.

.

But you have to make me believe.

Make me believe that you need someone –

and I will walk with you a thousand miles;

and I will stay behind you, if you need your pride;

and I will walk ahead of you, if you need to hide.

Call me – the way you used to

and I will be right there,

on the other end of the line.

You just have to tell me everything.

I’m waiting.

For I may not be in love with you now,

but I know I love you…

enough to give you happiness,

even when you are not mine.

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KZ Riman / March 05, 2014 / 09:45PM

“I’m right behind you.”

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Thoughts of the Lonely

I know I would think about it every minute of my life.

There are words I could not even utter,

the world would never understand.

There are dreams I could not even reveal,

my reality would not let it fit its hand.

.

Why do I feel your loss when you haven’t even been mine?

I speak of days that are beyond the rising of the sun.

I speak of nights that are as cold as the wind when I hum.

I speak of words you will never hear, of words I dare to shun.

I speak of these; I speak of emotions I should just push to be none.

.

Why do I feel like the world had turned its course and ruined,

that one single fate I dare battle the odds for and give in?

.

Do you feel she is worth the wait when you hold her hand?

Does she speak your words like the songs of the trumpets in a band?

Do not listen to me; I sound bitter, but I honestly think I can

give you love and joy the way I know you deserve as a man.

.

Why do I feel your loss when you haven’t even been mine?

I think of this every second of the day, every minute, and every time.

.

Weep Again

Tonight, I find no words to comfort me.

I think of ways to take me away

from the weeping, the sobbing, the crying, the howling;

still I find no peace to reach my dying heart,

still I find no calmness to still my wounded soul.

.

I yearn for you, and the silliness of it makes me smile.

How could one reach for another beyond the dim,

where there is no light, no clarity, not even the gift of a silhouette?

I yearn for you, and the madness of it all drives me completely manic.

How could one miss a touch, a kiss, a shivering caress

that was never once there, even for a single minute?

.

I write for you in words that would never fly.

You might be one of few, who’d read this briefly, and then pass on by.

You might never know it’s you, for tell the world who you are,

I never will.

Yet, I long for a single moment that a tiny part of your being

would wish to everything that the heavens made holy

you knew me well enough to pretend it really is you.

For in that single moment, in that brief fraction of time un-owned,

you were mine, while I would be forever yours.

.

I Refuse Again

They want us to meet.

.

Would you look at me the way I am certain I’d do you?

Where I stand; would you glance?

Here, where there is none but deceit,

where there is none but my life in defeat,

where my road has finally left me to deplete;

would you take a second look, even one so incomplete?

.

They want us to meet.

.

Would you talk to me?

With words I wish you’d woo; would you speak?

A voice I only hear in funny whispers in my sleep,

a voice I only hear as mine when I weep,

a voice I only hear when I make-believe;

would you speak to me the words that would make me weak?

.

They want us to meet.

.

Would you smile at me?

With the sweetness I only see in photographs; would you feel?

Would you lift my chin if I shied away and blushed?

Would you say I’d be fine as you have come, and rush

to walk with me down the path of a thousand thrush?

would you feel for me and tell me you have come,

the way you always do when I dream of a crush?

.

They want us to meet.

But then I remember… you have not even laid your eyes on me.

So I refuse again and again and again,

until I convince myself: the world, I could actually cheat.

.

.

Dream Again

I dreamed of you again.

.

I would never be able to tell the difference:

What’s real, what’s beyond, what I only wished it was.

I would never be able to tell the slightest miscalculation:

 interpretations, representations, the whole deal about admiration.

.

Sometimes I wish I could just forget.

.

We were placed miles and miles apart in this world,

our chances of meeting from slim to none,

and yet I still have laid my eyes on yours.

Once. Just once. And then forever in my sleep.

.

I should have closed my eyes.

I should have ignored the voice that told me your name.

.

What do you think about when you write?

Whose voice do you hear when you read?

I face a lifetime of trying to know who you are:

pictures, bios, stories and creations.

But why do I feel, if so, I would gladly live

over and over and over and then again?

.

Morning has broken; my eyes has once again opened.

Coffee. Bread. A little prayer. A deep breath.

My day would be spent again the way it always has been:

I wait for the night. I close my eyes. Again, of you, I dream.