And I come back to you,
Like the waves come back to the rocks,
Like the leaves return to the ground,
Like the wind howls again between the trees.
My heart resiles.
My soul mounds.
My eyes replenish..
Is it a habit?
Is it an addiction?
Is it true love?
What do I know ?
I talk to the whispering night
I talk to the snoring neighbor
I talk to the pernicious wind.
That always returns.
Without a word.
Without an embrace.
Without a confession.
Just a filtering cold.
Just a sinister whimper.
Just a chaotic tumble.
Is it foolish?
Is it loyal?
Is it romantic?
Some would laugh scornfully.
Some would turn away impatiently.
Other would run for the hills.
Like you did.
Always running.
Always fading.
Always crystalizing..
Never returning.
I could have a handful of goldenseals.
I could have a pocketful of bluebells.
I could have a life full of soft buttercups.
I could.
But I cannot.
Instead I turn my face to the blistering cold.
Instead I turn my heart to the carving howl.
Instead I turn my soul to the ever burning core.
Burning,
Turning
And bursting.
In total silence
In complete stillness.
In utter peacefulness.
What noise do stars make in deep space
When they collide?
When they collapse?
When they burst to life again ?
In tiny tiny
growing growing
burning burning
embers ?
The same bursting silence,
The same gentle bustle.
The same voiceless awe
That echoes in your words.
That mingles with your breath.
That cadences your heart.
soft soft like a hummingbird’s exhalation.
hushed hushed like the night after the tempest.
empty, empty like a breaking heart after a dream.

I always return to you,
But you never do.