I remember that night. The air was dry and cold. And so was your gaze, and your voice. You sat next to me with your hands trembling. And my knees started to shake. I felt the weight of your stare eating me down. Then you whispered nice and slow.
Deep. Your voice was too deep. And your voice almost faded with the night. But I heard you. I heard it clearly. And my face suddenly felt warm. I was silent. I tried to speak. But your voice echoed within me. My words were stuck so I nodded.
Then you said it again. And your words were almost non-existent. It was too soft. And I almost heard a crack in your voice.
I was silent and taken aback. My eyes were glued to the distance but your gaze was unwavering. I wanted to whisper back to the cold breeze. Because I, too, wanted to say those words. And every night I hear myself scream at my pillow. But my words were muffled. And at this moment, I still am. I'm sorry.
YOU ARE READING
Trinkets
PoetryIf you want to read without the commitment, this is the perfect book for you. You can open it and read a few excerpts once in a while, or you can read it in one go. The entries here have various themes which may confuse readers as it confused the wr...
