Pretty Paper Doll: I Will Never Write Of Death

It was an easy question. Just a yes-or-no. You choose

neither but silence . A never-ending silence. It doesn't really matter.
I already know what to do. So why did I still bother to ask.

Maybe I hoped to be pained by the disgust flushing from your

face as you no with conviction and finality, would you turn away
when I shatter?

Or maybe I hoped for your presence. Even that fleeting

presence of saying yes or no would be perennial heaven.

I only hoped...

The crisp of summer had gone. The sweet scent of cherry

blossoms and plumerias from spring had long been carried away to
the south. And I am tired from all the Idleness of not being with you.

Is that the sunrise of the sunset? It's a sunset how both

of them breath a rage of fiery colors-red, orange, yellow-roving
across the sky; how both are conceived by the lush verdant
mountains, yet are the start of two different times.

A sunrise to kindle the slumbering lonely earth. The rustle

of dried leaves in the backyard, the laughter of teasing childhoods,
the drumbeats and guitar strums on the radio -- all are animated
for a new day.

A sunset to warn that the darkness is about to fall. The

agonizing howl of cayotes, the rhythmic chatting of crickets,
the low voices of insomniacs -- the night is a murderer snapping
out of the life this morning.

You are my sun...

And that's the last time Iver think of mornings and

afternoons. Perhaps you're my moon I had lost to the monstrous clouds.

Serenity...

I no longer touch the ground or fear falling. I walk through

walks without hurting. I wander as a ghost. Until I reached the one
I had always called home.

Then I glimpse of you looking down a glass surrounded with

carnations and lilies and white angels. I come closer to you... I feel It --
you longing for what's inside. I feel it, stronger how -- your need
to caress my face, to kiss my lips, to drink my breath. But, It
stops there: to needing and wishing. Because --