in the mystery of our details.

(We talked in whispered words

As if, hushed tones won’t awaken the memories we shared.
Within the silence,
I noticed her withdrawing into herself
Fading a lifetime away from me.)
 
– Tell me whats in your head?
 
– I was just remembering,
how you’d come find me at the deepest hour of dawn.
how you’d cradle my head and kiss my temple,
absorbing all my thoughts,
only to think them a million times better than I ever could have.
 
(Her voice sounded like fragile glass.
I feared, if I interrupted them, she would break.)
 
– And now, can you not tell me whats crowding your head?
 
– I don’t know. it seems these days, I feel freer speaking to a stranger than to someone I actually know.
 
– That’s probably because a stranger sees you the way you are, not as they hope to think you are.
 
– And how do you see me?

– like a mystery.

– that’s the strangest compliment anyone has ever paid me.
 
(And at that moment in time, we seemed to cling to what things were, instead of letting them be what they truly are.
We were both lost, somewhere between the folds of all the details.
Barely finding our way back to the one mind we used to share.
That is how we left it.
Engulfed in a mystery ending.
A mystery as beautiful as her.)

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6 thoughts on “in the mystery of our details.

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