I was locked to read your eyes like old Latin prayer book. Only the punctuations I have understood, and the blessing of your apparition. Only this pillow set us apart like mountain that bid only signals to commune. But I was able to caress your hand.

How time crawled as it backwardly learned unlike a baby. The day brightened, it shed. We were still.. unmoving position of mind game dancing. You were the only one playing.

The creases your head and hair made were still on my pillow. The fresh fossils that they were, I straightened with my indifferent hands. Your tear-stain scent exhibited garland disremembered. Have you been weeping during your sleep or mine?

—

Originally published in happyobituary.blogspot.com.