Privileged tears

The weather has been good, lately,
you say,
while the shy sun enters our home,
frankly, the weather has been good,
but so have we, for the last few years,
and I say years,
for I do not remember the last tear you have shed.

You leave for work,
kissing me goodbye, like within the movies, swiftly, yet lovely,
and I watch you leave as the sun rises,
until you disapear within the bright light of this morning.

The weather has been good, lately,
I think,
while washing the dishes,
and so have we, for the last few years,
yes, years,
for I do not remember the last time you cried.

Tears fall down the sink,
I like to call them my privileged tears;
the weather has been good, lately,
and there is nothing to worry about,
we have been good, too,
for you have not cried in years,
and I have neither,
only on mornings that shone too brightly
against the façade of our home.

Jehona Thaqi©

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If I could

I would put my arms around you if I could;
hold onto the body that held me in silence,
run my fingers across the spine that carried much more than its own weight,
put my cheeks at the edge of the shoulders that have endured rain on sunny days,
wrap my hands around the hardened knuckles and stiff fingers;
but I can not.

You sit across the room,
I glare at your soft features and glowing skin;
your face a mirror of your soul, beautiful and tired,
with wrinkles across your forehead and dark circles underneath your eyes;
I see a young man tired of fighting alone, yet to proud to tell me so –
I would put my arms around you if I could,
but the room grows bigger each time I move towards you,
unable to reach your soft skin and tired soul.

You look at me with big eyes and a vivid smile,
a smile as soft and tender as described in Fitzgerald’s novel,
and you too, like Gatsby, will sooner or later diminish into nothingness
if you do not let me take your pain;
I would put my arms around you if I could,
but the more I run towards you,
the further you seem to be.

I will put my arms around you, dear,
so open up your soul,
for I have love within my broken heart
which can heal both of us.

Jehona Thaqi© I am here

Reflection II

I glance at the reflection of myself,

my hair a big mess,

curling at the beginning of my shoulders,

my shoulders crooked,

frowning upon my body,

my body held by two hands,

as if in danger to fall against the ground,

hands holding my stomach,

I can feel the hunger grow,

my stomach filled with coffee and pills,

pills upon my desk,

waiting for the pain to get back.

I watch myself hold on to this body,

to the only breathing creature that still forgives my wrongs,

I watch the mess I have become,

and my hair curling upon my shoulders.

The reflection drowned in tears of selfdestruction,

a pale face, dark and hollow eyes,

small lips trying to speak,

but reflections do not talk,

they merely watch this body fall,

they watch those hands pull closer to its body,

they watch this body tremble.

My hair, a big mess, curling at the beginning of my shoulders,

I think,

whether or not to cut it.

Jehona Thaqi©