Curate, connect, and discover
I wish to be like a cold winter’s day. Atmospheric frozen solid. An optimistic indifference. I want to be the tingling sensation in someone’s toes, fingers, and nose. I want to be the warmth on their back. The reason why they curl up in a blanket at night. The reason why they don’t want to leave it in the morning. The thing that their very breath catches on. I want to be like a cold winters day.
Sometimes you meet someone.
And suddenly all your poems are about them.
I am tired of writing about you.
But I can't seem to write about anything else.
I can't make you perfect, because you're not.
Yet all the lines I have ever written are full of love.
For you, I guess.
Because ever since we met,
my heart has always spoken your name.
In whispers, and then as songs.
Now in paintings and poems,
your existence sprawls across the walls of my house.
I only realised that it was love,
when pastel yellows became too beautiful to ignore.
Stupid thing love,
making me wait and hope,
when all this time you never were here.
I feel like I am inside a snow globe,
enchanted to stay a happy sight forever.
But deep within the walls of my heart and soul,
the winter of your absence has turned an ugly grey.
The snow no longer pure and white,
but tinted with the fading colours of my heartbreak,
and the lost yellows of your smile.