Understudy

Six weeks to one year

Sorry was our first word back then

You were black, I was pink

An obvious kind, as enchanting

He walked through

I sat in the balcony, looking at the valley

From the corner of my eyes, I captured his ice-glazed smile

Brick walls are now down

Sky blue and warm water

Deep red and cold breeze

He is the summer to my winter

He is the melody to my rhythm

He is a long-forgotten book in the library

Singing his story out loud

To the people who can't come to take him anymore

He is the country-side lake covered by foggy mountains

I write and read

I hope and pray

One day - this questions will finally be marked as completed

One day - I wouldn't have to face the same fear again

Six weeks to one year

Due is set to my own story; to finish or to end

He is way too precious to be pushed aside

And I - am way too scared to hope, to put hopes in human form

Soon as his shadow appears

At nights, when the trees are even too shy to move

I tell the blurry stars and their cosmic dusts

How this longing been carved in the center of my flawed soul

Everything and nothing has changed at the very second

All unspoken words and undone actions are kept tight

He keeps His - in which I cherish the most

I will walk the lane once He says so