Notes of Blue and Black

Believe me when I say to you that I want you is it not because of your eyes that speak loud words to me nor because of your lips lips I have never known, nor will know not because of your hands that touch what you love, and I will love soon. But ask me, truly: who am I to know? When our roads have never crossed, nor will it, perchance how then, will I know? When in your life it only feels right to turn away when i've seen you over and over, and yet your name i still don't know and as i long to linger on in this place dark shadow still, your face I will see. Even when I close my eyes, my sight brings you to me. I want each second to bring you to me with a passion of a thousand winds.

I woke up and everything felt different. The pillow on my head felt like a cloud; the noise that my fan makes as it sways across the room sounded like a song. The light that subtly crept in the curtains like a child peeking through touched the whitewashed walls of my room in a whole new different light. The taste on my mouth, which when you are a smoker and asleep for the past few hours you'd expect to be bitter, but this time, this was a good taste; I mean it didn't taste good, but it wasn't as bad as other days. I rubbed my eyes with my stubby hands; clearing the formation of dirt that congregated outside my eyelids.  Yawned. I lit my cigarette. You ever felt like that? Feelings like this don't come too often for a man like me who has given up on the promise of good waking moments. You know, those moments when you instantly feel as if you were bound by fate to have a great day. I've given up on that since I woke up one morning five years back when I realized, of...