Friday, July 12, 2013

of lore and by-lanes

There's this enormous ocean of sadness within you that I can never really fathom. It's not that you aren't grateful, it's just that the emptiness is too vast to be filled by all that you've got, too deep a void that even the most polished of your reflections seem shallow.
But unlike all those who prefer to talk instead, I chose differently, I chose to listen. Yes, I can hear you, clearly as though you're next to me, distinct from all the false-assurances and poisonous self-righteous litanies about the wellness of your being. After what would seem like ages, a void is staring into a void and silence overwhelms the noise.
My lighthouse on the other shore, my dawn of possibilities, I see you folding into yourself day after day. I see the nakedness collapsing into appearances.
My precious, things were once better, I agree, a long long while ago and you weren't so worn out by a quest for yourself.
You were sad, but you sang the sweetest of songs, and whispered the brightest hope into the lips of a silent river called time.
My dove, the sweetest one, weren't you the one with eyes brighter than a winter nightsky.
There's a long way to go, but not just yet.
Don't wander too far in that enchanted forest within your head.

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