Thousand Words Left Unsaid

I have millennium things to say to you and a millennium reasons not to…

Well, time is very quiet  for those who wait and swift for who are scared

I do hold up to set myself up

I do wait for the sundial to parade me the correct time for the beginning

And yes I am scared…

I’m scared of the memories we create, the moments we share

What if the colors in your mind’s eye wind up dark for eternity?

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What if your inner being quits accepting my feelings?

What if the appreciation of my words fades away in no time?

What if the silence takes it over?

Not the silence of your voice, but the silence, the peace you create within me when you talk…

But yes, I do not want my dairy to have blank pages conveying things left inferred…

Regardless of how thunderous  the days are, time is kind enough to let you have a bit extra to scroll through all over the hill conversations

Some say- it’s the eye contact which brings the spark

I say it’s the “soul contract”

Some stories begin with just one glance

And maybe it’s the handwritten letters and the handmade gifts which creates the essence in the most unique way

People say some of the best conversations start in the dead of night

Ah yes, it did…

It’s not always  the sugar coated words which draws in the spirit because some stories are all about depths

Depths created by alluring expressions

Depths created by sensations, the vibes

This is how it all started…

In between those unnumbered  likes and comments, her eyes were in search of just one single name

His smile was an oddity: it beamed dazzling on the cloudiest of her days

Yes! she had already fallen for him

Hey there, you’re my desired notification

When you say I’m your world, I say you’re my life

When you ask which is the kind of puzzle you can spend hours on, I say it’s you, you’re the puzzle I’ll spend a lifetime solving, gladly

He owned the phone, she owned the gallery

She owned the gallery, he owned the folders

He owned the recording lists, she owned the voice notes…

She was the muse, he the author

Every time he wrote a new tale, she got a new name

His lens made her feel beautiful even when she wasn’t

Being close, hours felt like seconds

And being apart, days felt like years

To her, her human diary was him

Time is very long for those who bewail

And short for those who jubilate

But certainly eternal for those who love…

So sparkling the flames cauterized in our hearts that we created each other in the dark…

Earlier Published here.

Image Source – Pexels

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