My heart summersaults into the depths of your eyes
and drowns into the pure agony
of never touching the tips of your fingers.
While the roses wither like a crumbled piece of paper
and the candle keeps flickering
like a hunter in the forest looking for its next prey.
My metaphors turned drinking coffee with you in the middle of the night
into some beast
that carries my limp limbs through the trembling ground
and I turned your smile into a string of words
that could never catch its beauty.
But my pens fell silent
when I tried to describe the way you left.
Leaving the door open just a tiniest bit
and the windows all bolted.
The paper remained empty
and I think that’s what spoke the loudest.