The Colors of My Room

Don’t think that you can escape this one without becoming another notch of words in my notepad

Another sleepy eyed,

sun fading through my dusty windows

afternoon of a memory.

Watching the incense smoke swirl around the room,

Staining my shirt with its scent,

and staring off into parallel worlds where you and I

Are free.

You said that you could hear it course through me every time I sighed.

Inhale,

Exhale,

I see the gold in your eyes,

as the sun paints shadows across your face.

The two of us creating an intricate place

in time,

our own Bed Peace like John and Yoko.

The sun streaks trickle through the haze and the cat walks in,

you’re running your fingers through my hair again.

The feeling is soft.

Nostalgic.

I’ve been here with you before.

Either in a distant memory,

or a long lost dream.

Either way,

somewhere it was right.

Somewhere it was supposed to be.

You’ve got 8 freckles on your face.

I can trace my own constellation between them.

When you’re thinking, you blink slowly,

saying “when you can’t face the world, just don’t look at it.”

But at the end of it all,

it’s not me that you want.

It’s the feeling,

the idea and presence of me.

A part of me wants to believe that.

But the idealistic side, the side that you find intriguing, cannot.

I’ll take the familiar silence of what’s left unspoken,

over being broken by the same string of exhausted words.

Inhale,

Exhale,

breathing in tune with you,

and watching the colors of my room.