last year, this week spinned on its own. we both stuck in its crevices, hanging effortlessly in the pauses-- without moving a bone. a vague picture clubbed with a clear memory brings back the stimulation that rose when your skin embraced mine. that week, where days blurred into nights and nights skipped days; where auroras and twilights met somewhere, when Time stopped and flooded-- that's the kind of week i wish to live right before dying. a World of our own, a step away from blaring crossroads. your face silhouetted against the mysterious light, cupped in my palms that reek of alcohol. our promises drowned in the tingling of bottles and glasses called for our notice. they still do. a week worth being called an epic, but too dangerous to leave it bare. it's a wonder how hidden that week is now, amidst the promises we made and crushed with our hands, hands that traced one another's gloom and doom. if only i can erase the memories we had carved that week, on the seamless wall and enjoy the pleasure of matching our desires once again, i'll do it leaving no regrets. even if it means, disposing our promises in a sepulchre once again-- it's that Holy. maybe, soulmates are not always meant to travel together. maybe, they're saved just for times like this. _____ •last year, this week• if the unstructured pattern and incomplete sentences are bothering-- please do overlook.
