camera-eye
The clocks ticks slowly,
I can hear the steady drip of the water in the bathroom.
Your skin and bones are fragile,
I don’t want to touch them,
I don’t want to break you.
There are birds outside the window, chirping gaily,
I can hear the peepal leaves rustle in the gentle wind.
Your breaths are peaceful,
I don’t want to wake you,
I don’t want to break the spell of your dreams.
The t.v. in the room speaks in static,
I can hear a lady singing her little child to sleep.
Your hair fans the pillow, soft and wispy,
I don’t want to change it,
I don’t want to change you.
The phone buzzes in my pocket,
I can hear my fluttering heart and my fast breaths.
Your eyes flutter a little, your finger twitches,
I don’t want to be there when you wake up,
I don’t know if I can move.
The syllable of my name doesn’t form on your tongue,
I cannot hear familiarity in your voice.
You don’t remember me, again.
I don’t want to remind you.
But I will.
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