“Every day I see a little more of the true color of your mind.

Would you like me to tell you what it is?”

Yes

Because when we sit and talk, we are faces and walls and flesh, and we can’t hear each other, can we?

“The color of snowfall. Gentle and violent.”

Yes.

I would reach for your hand, but then I would feel skin, and I’ve waited my whole life to feel soul

I’ve waited my whole life to feel.

“I’ll tell you the color of my mind.”

Yes, because you’ve convinced me that you’re enough of a person to know for yourself.

Yes, you want to hear my waiting, my anticipation.

In the silence, you torture me, you feel my craving, the unsatisfied hunger in my soul

Tell me that I’m human.

You smile in that way you do, and I know

I’m ready to be real again.

“The color of rainfall.”

You build my lovely illusions with a rose-petal knife

The distance between our souls closes as I lean toward you with my head in my hands

My laughter echoes across us

“Of course. Cool and romantic.”

You laugh with me, and I think, maybe for the first time

That people can be beautiful

You are beautiful.  

And rain, if it is your soul, makes the most beautiful rhythm, my darling

I could have believed that you are the songbird with your wings spread in the downpour, but I now think

You are song itself.