Skinny Love

It’s icy, crawling vices wraps around my heart,

Seeping in and turning my blood to a muddy green

Those hands you hold; neither which is mine

Those smiles you strike dead; I stand alive still

Those glances you bestow; How I wish to be the object of affection!

Yet I hold my tongue and keep present as your friend:

For they say speak what you believe

But I neither speak my faith

Nor speak to convince.

I only wait for the day

In which words are rendered no importance,

When we wish to pour our souls

Only to find holes echoing back in loudness

Our private, quiet love.

– a.h.


They say be brave or keep mum and suffer in silence. I see no distinction between these two: either way you love and either way you gain in reward pain. The only nuance is an acknowledgement of their requited affections, in which we place so high an importance that we forget what Love is all about.

” Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about. ” – Rumi


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