I love the air that smells like you.
You still smell the same.
I still caress your hair in my dreams.
Lilac-painted lies hung by a thread around the sallow corners of my eyes.
I defend the touch of your skin.
Silly you. Silly me.
Silly us to have not known how it feels to be loved and to be not.
I carry a heaven that melts in my hands.
I carry dreams that drown in my eyes.
I am dead.
I am doomed.
To have adorned your lilac-painted lies, I water the lilies that grow in my lungs; I breathe you and still die.
I borrow from you a sweet time that never flies whenever I see you around.
I borrow a handful of your crimson smiles.
I love the air that smells like you.
You still smell the same.