The kitchen was always bright, either by your smile or the refrigerator light.
We used to sit on the floor of your kitchen, take each other in, and talked about our fears.
We always turned off the lights.
It was almost like living with a ghost in the house.
I remember Saturdays with you.
We spent hours in your room.
I laid in your bed watching you paint. You were an artist, an unfathomable person.
Each part of your soul was closed off to everyone you met, but me.
I explored your soul and your mind. Your mind was a maze of darkness that even you did not understand.
You were always afraid that they would take you away from me, I think that’s why I insisted on holding you close.
Saturdays were our days.
When your hands trailed my body under the moonlight, those were the nights of Saturday.
Saturday was the day I realized that I was in love with you.
The day I tattooed my heart on my wrist for you, placed my heart on a silver platter for you.
I wish I could relive those Saturdays; meet you again, introduce myself again, change the ending.
I hope you remember those Saturdays.
I hope you think of me on those sadder nights on Saturdays.
February 9, 2017 // 1:15 AM