Those lines on your face,
laced and weaved into drooping skin,
tell a thousand stories.
In your house, in this old room
I wonder why I left this place,
or if I ever did entirely.
But if we are days from death,
or weeks, or months, I know
I came back to die only in your company.
For I have spent a lifetime learning,
Loneliness is everywhere without you.
Those folding rivers, those little cracks;
Each a tiny memory engraved,
your beauty is tarnished by time.
I remember those reminiscent eyes,
now deepened and greyed with age,
filled with so many ancient delights;
but shadowed by the torments life
constantly tossed at you.
And still, I hopelessly wonder,
If I am no longer a fearful schoolgirl,
Then why are you so afraid?
Those cracks embedded in your face,
teem with buried emotion,
those rivers once carried tears, sad tears.
Suddenly, your cheeks are glossed with red
and shivering, your bony body trembles.
You urge me to come closer,
and for the first time in all those wasted years,
I listen and hear a quiet pounding.
Your heart, it beats quicker, mad.
But is it really me who makes your heart
gather pace, and paint you so red?
Once two self-centered youngsters,
we were too naive to know that
age and time will test our hearts.
I find you now, so wretched and old
with eyes wizened and understanding
And withered body clinging to its frame,
thinking of all our lost stories.
But then, underneath my words,
I wonder why I ever came back to this place,
when all is strange and unfamiliar,
but for those lines on your old face.
