I can see parts of you through these tired eyes, all timid and skittish concealed beneath the music notes that spread like white sheets on my bed while my fingers trace these creases as if they were the strings attached to your soul and I for once was the one to make a melody flow out of you. I have tried to trace your touch in the rosary with blurred out eyes and with every bead as I reach nearer to end of love hymns my hand begins to grow numb. There are days when I drink your name, attached to mine, letter by letter with sips of my hot cocoa each morning while humming the same old songs to fill in the spaces you left inside me. You were the reason this cocoa used to be more and less sugary somedays. You were the reason the special ingridient that I used to mix in it was both laughter and tears. You reside in everything I own dear but I claim to have wiped you off everything I came in contact with (till now). You hide inside the humans and figures that I forget to remember today and if for a moment forgetting meant failing and failing meant rejection then with every scar I forgot to kiss a part of you came closer to me and another part was carried further away.
You were the only reason that I was hooked to the light and its addiction made me wander around in search of it but you were also the same old reason that made darkness my second home and there were days I used to sit there waiting alone for all of it surround me. You were also the salvation madmen used to promise of, the one that never reached the door of my second home but maybe that was because I had never let you go away from our first house back in France. I kept you close; safe in between these arms of mine; even if holding you meant bruising my chest, still each second I just hugged you with even more ferocity. I told you that you would never be needing your legs again as I picked you up while our lips sealed each other. You were all the words that seemed so full of magic and worthy when I was devastated and broke but turned out to be nothing more than a piece of mere arrangement of alphabets done by a couple of men thinking too wise of themselves when I was the king again and on those very day you were supposed to be the queen in the palace I built and always dreamt to build, brick by brick, but this little thought turned out to be nothing more than a mere dream within a dream.