Before I write about coffee stains and ink splashes on white sheets
And fireplace snuggles in your favorite pajamas
I want you to know that you were the muse
That started this endless eulogy
Your heart was caught in a forest fire in the middle of December
I came in like the stream of water
When she lit you on fire
I became the ink on your love letters to her
Staining the back of your books until you found the perfect words
I became the tiny scrape on your knee
When you bent down with the rose to ask her out
Today, while you’re off with another girl in your arms. She sits across the table with someone else to celebrate Christmas. Champagne in hand and a clink of glass!
New Year knocks on the door hoping to be a rise for some and a fall for others. You miss the spilled coffee and ink on your sheets. Another woman in front of the fireplace promises to rescue your heart from the fire but she doesn’t know the path to the water stream. You hurry towards parchment in order to stop the suffocation of your heart because the walls are closing in and you have no time at all. Your new pen does not know the crimson ink with which you write love letters or pain. Words were never enough or perfect when it came to your thoughts.
You’re longing for the butterfly in your pit when you scraped your knee for her and I bandaged it for you but the truth is, here you lay wounded with nobody to see you broken because to them? You’re a fine young man. You’re a man with charm and who is on his way to glory.
I became a small part in your life- a pen, a paper and a comfort zone that you left behind in order to pursue greater and better things.
Every passing day reminds you of how I faded away and every night you try to recollect the memories of us under the pale winter moonlight.
Oh! How I wish we would celebrate like we did before when youth gleamed in our eyes and the world was in our feet.