He is a song.
In a language you couldn’t decipher.
A tune unfamiliar to all others.
And the melody sweeps me away
Making me waltz like there is no tomorrow.
He is poetry.
Open to endless interpretations.
Serene, soulful sorrow
Wrapped in a façade of indifference.
And yet, compelling me to recite over and over.
He is philosophy.
Deep, unfathomable, hard to follow.
Denying all connection to conventions.
And yet, with a promise of a romance
That seems as old-school as time.
He is a mystery.
Scarred, fleeing, unfathomable.
A strangeness you would be afraid of.
And yet, one that I managed to unravel.
One I dare not reveal
For fear of him being misunderstood. Again.
In a language you couldn’t decipher.
A tune unfamiliar to all others.
And the melody sweeps me away
Making me waltz like there is no tomorrow.
He is poetry.
Open to endless interpretations.
Serene, soulful sorrow
Wrapped in a façade of indifference.
And yet, compelling me to recite over and over.
He is philosophy.
Deep, unfathomable, hard to follow.
Denying all connection to conventions.
And yet, with a promise of a romance
That seems as old-school as time.
He is a mystery.
Scarred, fleeing, unfathomable.
A strangeness you would be afraid of.
And yet, one that I managed to unravel.
One I dare not reveal
For fear of him being misunderstood. Again.
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