Telepathic Heads

Loss is an incredible thing. Isn't it honey? I thwart it as you want me to because I already guessed what your lips are about to follow. 

No, certainly I do not want it to be so. What do you think? I do not want you to mourn and spray grief over blooming lilacs while you are holding your breath to let the external bliss slide into your veins. Do not assume anything of it. I only talk so and that does not mean anything. Nothing at all. Believe me.

My half-dreams are extremely conscious ones. You are not there anymore. No matter how much I want, I try to find you in them. It is not to state that you disappeared altogether, but when I try to hold you and make sense of how it is about you, there is no one I feel. 

Indeed, there are dreams after which I wake up with a bright smile and a blush so loud to call me a fool, a walking clown. But, I do not think much of it. Well, sometimes I do because you know that I do and this knowing honey is dangerous you see. 

I am way past my girlhood and you are not here to share my belongings. But, I assume that you know, like I know, like you know that I know, like I know that you knew all the damn time, that your lighthouse is a graveyard of bleeding hearts wrenched off from the breasts of nursing mothers. 

I remember you asked loud that day in your head. What kills me more than your jagged body within the reach of my arms? To be honest, I was surprised by your audacity because you thought that my castles of air would defend that. 

Do you know what kills me more?

That your head spins on the fact that I, out of all, was silent for the sheer notoriety of love in all its belittled versions.