Fools

 

Don't you think we have come too far away from houses we don't belong, from offshoots that are born withered, from hearts on full display that are too known for anything otherwise? 

We do.

I have always wanted to tell you that your eyes are grenades, that rains, that cities do not come crashing down. I wish to tell you all the whys but I have this certain windfall in my voice which asks of me to not. 

Then don't. 

Isn't it all so unstable to go running after something intangible? This rush we are after, isn't it strange? Where shall we go when there is nowhere to go? This deference, does it not fly away in silence? 

No. 

This gravitating of lips on stone-cold mirrors, these sighs, these pauses between indistinct banter. What does it remind you of? 

Nothing.