I wish were the words written in your book, or at least be a chapter, or a paragraph. I would even settle for a sentence. Is this too much to ask for? Did I do something wrong? Is what I say and do offending you? You seem to have made yourself clear, but I don’t know what went wrong. How did it come to this crossroad? I don’t remember going down this road and these white lines that pass by in a blurred sight, seem unfamiliar to me.
I wish I were the rain. I could fall down upon you and wash away all the dirt that resides still within you. I could gently seep my way through the layers, I want to know your goodness and learn.
I wish I were the sun beating down upon your skin, making you wince back with a second thought, to remind you that with your face towards the sun, your shadows will surely fall behind you.
I wish I were your guitar. Gently caressing over your strings, spilling your everything in a song. God knows we were always meant for a minor fall.
I wish I were your piano. Calloused fingers know you well, my body aches to be touched like your piano.
I want to be your lover.
I wish I were the moon. An ember glow on the coldest night, whispering winds directing the truth. In the silence of the darkness, only light can come through.
I wish I were the words you use to speak. But that has gone into oblivion. What have you’ve become? What have I become? What have we’ve become? My dearest friend. My oldest friend. Wishing I was, wishing you were. But it lies in the past, a past that was laid out before we even had met.
I wish these words would reach to you, but written word can only go so far. Hold so much meaning.
I wish I were the words written in your book…
