Winter bird
I am only reminded of the warmness of your soul when mine turns ice cold.
On rare occasions, you listen to me. You only listen to me when I'm talking about me, and not you. And so I tell you about the rainbows, the shadows, and the garden that is my mind. I tell you about the days that pass, the days that don't, and the days that swallow me whole. I only stop when I finish the story about the grey that still swims in my veins, and how much I've been trying to let them bleed out. There is only silence at your end. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. And then finally you say, "I don't know what goes on in that little head of yours, doll."
Tonight I am once again a winter bird. And you try to thaw me out, like I'm not supposed to be this way. It's clear to me that you not only have the coldest corners of my heart mapped out, but you still know exactly how to navigate in it.
You say something. I don't remember what it is. But I laugh.
"That is the best sound I've heard all day," you say.
I smile. We let the silence drag on. Not because we don't have anything to say, but simply because our silences are weightless and comfortable. Your warmth radiates even in the absence of words. Like a life buoy, it keeps my head above the waters. It comforts me and I don't fight it. Instead, I fall into it with both arms wide open and let it remind me that I am not a lone ranger.
I am just Icarus, and you are the sun.
On rare occasions, you listen to me. You only listen to me when I'm talking about me, and not you. And so I tell you about the rainbows, the shadows, and the garden that is my mind. I tell you about the days that pass, the days that don't, and the days that swallow me whole. I only stop when I finish the story about the grey that still swims in my veins, and how much I've been trying to let them bleed out. There is only silence at your end. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. And then finally you say, "I don't know what goes on in that little head of yours, doll."
Tonight I am once again a winter bird. And you try to thaw me out, like I'm not supposed to be this way. It's clear to me that you not only have the coldest corners of my heart mapped out, but you still know exactly how to navigate in it.
You say something. I don't remember what it is. But I laugh.
"That is the best sound I've heard all day," you say.
I smile. We let the silence drag on. Not because we don't have anything to say, but simply because our silences are weightless and comfortable. Your warmth radiates even in the absence of words. Like a life buoy, it keeps my head above the waters. It comforts me and I don't fight it. Instead, I fall into it with both arms wide open and let it remind me that I am not a lone ranger.
I am just Icarus, and you are the sun.