I want to hold your face in the chalice of my hands so eternally that its texture carves into my palmes. I want to learn the colours in your eyes and paint the world with those shades. I want to engrave the site of your smile so deep in my brain, I could draw it in the clouds. I want the sound of your laughter to be the only echo pulsating through the walls of my cosmic castle. I want your hair to be the only thing entwined between my fingers, so familiar yet so staggering. I want your scent to encircle me how blankets of ghost white roses envelop a lamented gravestone.
For all that, now I can’t even remember the contours of your face, were they sharp or were they mellow? Were your eyes stained in the hues of rosy chestnut or burnt timber? Was your smile too bashful or too boisterous? My voluminous walls fear that they have gone deaf in the drought of your laughter, imploring, “where is the echo?” My fingers are dazed at their own bareness trying to understand, “where are the locks that draped our exposed corpse?” My gravestone was left wondering whether it wasn’t mourned anymore or whether its roses were bartered for chrysanthemums, choking down it asked, “where’s that perfume that banished the reek of death?” Now all that's left of you is a silhouette of the soul that dances in my memory like a haunted spirit in my cosmic castle,
slowly fading from everything to nothing.
Ave Atque Vale
Ave Atque Vale
Ave Atque Vale
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