Perfect Imperfection
I write to the other part of my soul,
A part so dark I wish to forget,
A memory so tender I fear to touch,
A being so perfect in imperfection,
A blend of sunshine and ice cream,
A smoothie of the sweetness of life,
A person of my lifetime.
I write for our heart-to-heart nights,
Nights we spoke of nothing,
Nothing but just us,
Nights we counted stars in the dark,
Those nights we wished the moon disappeared.
I write for the nights I poured my problems unto you,
And you held my hand,
Softly,
Tenderly,
And spoke to my heart,
Told me it was okay.
I write for the evenings we made chapatis,
And laughed at the crazy shapes you carved.
Those times you stared at me,
Silent,
Eerie silence.
“You okay?” I’d ask,
“You’re so beautiful,
You leave me breathless” ,
Was always your reply.
The evenings we laughed on and on,
At our inability to get drunk,
I still remember your warnings,
And your soda bottles still stashed in my house.
I write for the times you held me close,
Kissed me at times,
Forced me to say I love you.
The times you stayed awake to stare at my sleeping face.
I still see your beard,
Kempt and attractive,
Your smile,
Addictive and love.
Well,
I write for the times we failed,
Failed to secure each other’s heart,
Failed to let go of our insecurities.
The times we chose to stay away,
To return all souvenirs we ever exchanged,
To let go of each other,
To let us fly like butterflies.
I write for us,
The US in the past.
