Every night at 3 o clock, I open this compose screen and struggle to pen something arrestingly beautiful.
If only you could be knitted in words, I would have weaved you into a sprawling sweater of a prose that I would wear.
All I'm left with are some weak words, fallen like the loose strands of your hair on my pillow, reminding me of the beauty beside my pillow..
With great caution, I bunch those strands together, roll them in a circle and slide them in on my ring finger.
i haven't woven that sweater, just a fragile embodiment of my love for you in a string I made with your hair
i couldn't wear your love on my sleeve so i wear a shy smile instead.
©azeezah
A