I wanted to know you, not half know you. I wanted to know if I could love you, if you would let me, if there could be an honesty between us. I know I can only confess this once, or maybe twice, for we are nothing, were nothing, and memories are more sacred the quieter you keep them. There are things I know and love: the taste of jasmine tea flowering on my tongue, undoing the hairpins at night and letting my hair tumble down piece by piece, the sky in all its iterations, candles burning blessings until they are a puddle of wax in a sand circles, kisses between my shoulder blades. You are not one of these, known and beloved, though I imagine perhaps. Had we started earlier, had you tried harder.

Labels: exceptindreams