for all that is to you

Let me be
that one unfinished story that you'd never let go,
haunting your dreams
and reigning your silences.
That troublesome malingerer of sleep that visits under a shroud of thought blur.
...
Let me be those tiny cobwebs on the corners that you somehow always leave.

Let me be,
just an answer,
for all the questions hanging in the sultry night.

For now,
just don't find perfections to abandon me on my own.

Let me be
flawed,
weak,
never to recited out in the open.

An elaborate shame,
a consistent bother,
like the summer evenings that make you want to push away the dawn a little farther.

Some countless little rainbows on the arch of your back,
those tiny little beads of sweat,
that exist without much a commotion.
Let me be,
a comfortable inconvenience.
A caustic oxymoron.
Your favourite one-liner.
Your best pick-up lines.
Your layers and surfaces.
Everything that is not liable to disappear.

Let me be.