Talk to me, I do not say (unedited)

I do not utter words that are meaningless especially when I am not a person who matters or should matter to you. What I write here will remain entirely yours but not for the sake of destiny. I believe writings become reality. I don’t interfere with the folded and the unfolded. I let this piece decide for itself. It can be a fictional writing or a romantic prose. You can read it however you like, however you wish, however you choose. I am generous when it comes to you as you have been generous to me for more than a decade now. I don’t know why people cross paths. I don’t know if there is such a thing as pure and unexceptional love, an eternal emotion. I don’t know if the chicken came before the egg or the cream on top of the milk. I don’t know if there are imaginary lines on the walls or imagery on a rainbow bright. I don’t know so many things and so many things seem not to want to know of me but there are a few things that I know and that is when a shell opens there is a pearl. When there is an eye there is a lightning, and when there is a dream, mastery takes place. How I wish I could write you a piece that would shake you to the bone, and the impatience out of you, a piece that would balance the air, and unbalance the earth, and lined up the wave break. But glittering words are not enough for the heart mussel to fall in and out love. Woods with sands, sands with tooth marks made out of rocks, rocks with hidden messages written on the wall, Juliet with a flatten coffee cup and a debased city with clouds clocking jealous of a blue and bright sky could all become part of a feather written letter, untimely, unwanted, unasked for. That is of course when the mouth of envelop is licked, and the pupil of the paper with words of love are closed with a promise of peace. Peace.