it was never dead.

those eyes of yours were never dead. lurking like a ghost in even numbers, recurring decimals that never disappeared. 

it was never dead to me. each time it was brokenness, every time it was the doubts in my affairs. every time an excuse of a different shape— to run into the ellipsis of a fairytale.

it was never dead when I saw your body in the middle of the night instead of his. the sturdy intensity of a pillow my head sinks in. the ‘oh’s buried within me. the fire searing in your chest. the apologies I never let you have. the dream of your eyes spinning around the gravity that pins you down— me.

they say death brings forth the clear soulful wisp of truth; so maybe that’s why I had to kill you. just to see you. just to know you the same way I knew I’m killing a part of me, too.

the unfixable in me is dying to be fixed. the unknown in me is screaming to be seen. the string of lights in my darkness is bursting just to glow. why did it take all this time to know?

so hold me close. in the deep violet hills of our memories, there was always what you never saw of me. the gentlest embrace. my eyes in yours. our nights in burning colours. splatters of my lights on all your promises. the coolness of my waters resting in peace beneath your sails.

buried deep we were, nesting ‘neath sincere obituaries, but no one knows we were never dead. something just couldn’t let it die. love just never does.