Color is only defined by the shade of our eyes.
You and I have least in common,
yet my picture of you is colorful,
beautiful in ways only I understand.
Wish I could paint it rainbow,
or any color that defines romance,
something we can both share,
but I have no clue as to what defines your feelings.
I am one with the breeze,
where cold and dust forms our atmosphere,
drawn to your life fragrance
which sprays happiness and joy like evening showers after heavy rains
leaving particles of love to colonize every being inside of me.
I should association my emotions with you,
or just part of it.
I find myself afraid of swimming towards your shores,
for fear of losing my breath,
drowning in the absence of your words,
fading into the oblivion of my own small universe.
I could make you my moon,
more of a sun,
and the world won’t be spacious enough to hold you back.
all that will mean nothing at some point,
but that picture shall remain colorful as we both walk the path to find meaningful words to knead us to a stronger thread.