in the quietest hours, i spill
ink brimming with insurmountable emotions
drawing words that are yet to be defined
for a love that can no limits, find.
in the quietest hours, i hear
the echo of my soul singing your name
to the exquisite throbbing beat of my heart
all the meaningless noises of the day shut, out.
in the quietest hours, i pick
the carefully collected eyelashes over years
guarded and treasured to wish upon
setting them free with my only wish of this lifetime, trapped.
in the quietest hours, i seek a star
that has not yet heard me whisper your name
or burnt brighter with my anguish and desire
there are not enough stars to hold a tiny part of my, love.
in the quietest hours, i wonder ~
do i think of you in every breath? or
do i breathe every time i stop thinking of you?