And each time you hang up,
it breaks just a little bit;
as your calloused, hardened finger –
hardened by work, and hardened by play,
by the way it grips the paintbrush, by the way it guides the ball coming at it with agility and poise –
meets the red on the screen,
that deserves my touch, my tender play,
with my hands, that guide it places,
with my fingers;
and you might not be able to help it –
what you had set out to do;
so can’t I.
Like the trees that sway,
To the travelling winds.
Various sizes, various shapes,
The energy that comes through.
Different forms, different textures,
The force that overpowers.
Bittersweet, burgeoning colors,
Colors that would’ve fit in an art exhibition,
Popping whilst I prod,
Colors that engulf me,
And my plethora of thoughts,
Colors that observe, colors that take in,
The entirety of my being,
The love that I made,
The soft words ringing in my ears,
Colors that absorb,
The loudest of intention,
The warmest of thought,
Colors that reciprocate,
The travails unknown,
The travails of every single person who has taken in the colors,
Colors that evoke,
That feeling of having-been,
Those feelings of further-more,
Colors, that wouldn’t have looked so out-of-place in an art exhibition.
To write, to breathe, to talk,
To be fully aware,
Of your innateness,
Of your faculties.
And off to that hidden corner,
the smiles that take over,
almost lost in the sea.
That delicate little cusp,
On the brink of the plane,
Sweet, sweet nectar,
Orderly chaos prevailed. The lavish tunnels, and the not-so-lavish faces.
A consortium of sorts.
A strangle tingling sensation.
Multitudes of faces. And bodies.
I look around, I’m king.
I breathe, I stay my stay.
I feel, feel my feelings.
I think about something juicy. I think I know what I’m thinking about.
I’m thinking about a feeling.
A rather curious feeling. Something that thrives on curiosity, rather.
I feel like I know you.
I feel like I know you, inside-out.
Amidst all the chatter, I feel like I know you.