*I WILL BE GONE*
There you are.
For a moment I thought
I lost you in the
cacophony of the wilderness,
the commotion of the crowd
gathering around you
like they were there,
never left your side,
standing beside in the darkest nights.
Like monsoon in the east.
Like dust storms in the west.
But that moment has passed
with a fear that tingles my spine,
and aches my bones,
courses shivers my skin
for the truth we both know.
It's difficult to spot you know.
Through haze and mist and lies.
Fake utterances of greetings echo, indifferent hugs,
exchange of good wishes follow.
Your smiles have returned, however. Belief has crept back in,
happiness has crawled into,
and the tears are disappearing.
Now, I smile too.
From a distance trying my best
to tilt up and peek my head
above for one glance
of that curve
which once made things straight
for me. Everything.
Maybe for one last time?
I look into the distance again
and I remember the days
you were missing from you.
Down and out,
The heads dropped,
Faith was all I had.
And all you could do was look above into my eyes screaming,
for not apathy,
but that very same faith.
And as always I was there for you,
with you. .
I subtly slipped in a stupid joke
and when for a split second
you did smile,
hope was all I felt.
A bit for you.
A bit for me.
I kept trying again, and again,
until the smile stayed.
It's time now that I leave.
It's been a while
but time waits for none.
For I have done what needed be,
played my part.
It's already late.
You are better.
And I will be gone.
remember when you took me inside my closet and we sat there all night drawing stars on its walls? we wondered if anyone would find the stars once we were gone. we pushed all my jackets to one side and you made me some kind of cozy chair with a blanket on the dark side of my closet? you know finch, that, right then, i was not scared of the dark?
that day, when you said you loved me looking at my hands, i remembered something someone told me.
that closets are like some people. they go unnoticed.
and i know it’s true.
you know why?
i wear sweaters made of poetry warmer than the wool.
i wear scarves made of more than two rounds of late night conversations.
i wear boots for rain-soaked installments of crying on the phone.
i wear bracelets made of stones harder than the way i’m trying to stay happy.
i wear rings to hide my bruises on the knuckles.
and i wear skirts shorter than my hair.
all to go unnoticed when they fall on the floor of my closet.
you finch, you noticed them.
when everyone else made fun of my closet, i kept thinking they meant the sweater or the boots.
what i didn’t know that for them, i was the one that didn’t look inside the closet. not my sweater.
so i kept checking how my hair looked or if my nails are the correct electric blue.
i didn’t like closets anymore, finch.
but you sat with me inside one, mine, drawing stars, and i wouldn’t trade it for anyone to notice us.
I used to see it in the movies, I used to hear the stories.
Being so depressed one found comfort in a bottle
Sitting alone in a restaurant, surrounded by strangers.
All the conversations and laughs
Supplied no comfort to my current state.
What is this? Intoxication or an eye opening reality?
Am I really alone?
Am I just isolating myself?
I'll never know, and frankly
Unknown the Poet
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