Sometimes, silence is the loudest kind of noise.
Back when it was so easy. Like one, two, three… without the square roots and the variables from a to z. Like when chemistry didn’t mean check out the temperature and if the ingredients were right, but how you blend with the person you love and how you feel happy when they’re around.
Back when holding hands meant never letting go and keeping you till the end of the get-go. Like when poetry is romantic and the words used were deep and the response would be ecstatic. Like when playing with her hair meant I like you and I don’t mind spending this time with you, because it meant so much more.
Like when you get lost, you stay where you are and wait. Because you’ll know someone will look for you… and someone will always find you. Wishing I was always there to talk to you, laugh with you, and just be with you.
And back when all I have ever done was write you love poems. And some days there will be the occassional hurt poetry but they wouldn’t really matter. Because deep down, there will always be those love poems amidst the scary black cloud that surrounds it. And I wrote you those love poems, everyday, with those soft sweet words of surrender when I kiss your jaw and snuggle on the crook of your neck–
–and all I ever wanted was your kisses.
Want to kiss you beneath that mane of hair. Want to kiss you as I hugged you from the back and your nape ready and bare. Want to kiss you with open eyes and smile as I see your eyes closed. Want to kiss you in front of strangers, uncaring and display of how everything is. Want to kiss you on your earlobe and see your lips lift up to a grin. Want to kiss you on the nose, your cheeks, your eyes, your lids, your eyebrows, want to play with your hair as I hold your head steady.
Want to kiss you and tell you I love you.
But that was back when it was so easy as ABC and not caring how many numbers there are after one, two, three. So now I keep all these feelings bottled up in silence. And time is all I’m counting on when all I want will come amidst this space.
Because sometimes, silence… really is the loudest kind of noise.
Filed under: Literature, Poetry | Leave a Comment
Tags: love, prose, silence