“…Everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
toward those isles of yours that wait for me…”
– Pablo Neruda
It is the thought that creates. It is the thought that colors. It is the thought of you that makes me want to hope that one day, I’ll find myself inside your arms. It is the thought of you that creates the illusion that I am not alone– that I am not empty. It is the thought of you that builds me up, my next steps, my next move… so that one day, I’d be lying right beside you.
It is hope that brings forth euphoria; a tingling sensation of monstrous desires shaped by intangible spirits. It is hope that pushes the lover to love more in pursuit to be loved in return. It is hope that enacts the silhouettes painted by the thoughts. It is hope that feeds the thoughts so that they’d grow and they’d transform in to actions. It is hope that twists my tongue in to unfamiliar utterances of “I think I love yous” and “Maybe he’s the ones” even when you are but a shadow that acquired the capacity to forget that shadows are black.
I am afraid that I am running on hopes and thoughts; like lips that have forgotten what it’s like to not have cigarette in between them. I am afraid for my thoughts gave you the most beautiful hues and I always forget how you’re not really around.
I beg, I crave, I long for you
For your touch that have yet to be received by my skin
For your eyes that have yet to see my face
For your voice that I have heard but never actually heard
For your lips that have yet to be placed on top of mine
Hope is a vicious thing and yet hope is the only thing keeping me together.
The hope that one day our feet will finally walk the same paths and that one day, we can finally fall in love with each other.
But for now, I bid you good morning… I am off to bed.