love

i don't like new experiences—
i prefer the same experience over and over again
the same person over and over again
the same taste over and over again
like a madman, like anyone—
who's in love.

you see—love is an art
it opens itself to you the more you look at it.
from bud comes out a flower.
first look, random dots
second, a constellation.

love, is not a waterfall—or a moment,
it is a never ending staircase.
with every step, with every slip—
you fall in love even more
deeper and deeper, darker and darker
until you can't see each other—or yourself.
nor you need to.

for your hands—become your eyes.
your words—become your body.
and love—
becomes the air that you breathe.

you see, love is everywhere.
it's in the 28-days old chrome tab that you can't seem to close.
it's in the t-shirt that is too small, but you can't seem to get rid of.
it's in the poem that you started months ago, but is too good to be finished.

and no matter how much the world tells you—
those tabs are crashing your chrome,
or those clothes are crowding up your wardrobe,
or that poem that may always remain a draft.

i hope you keep the tabs, and the t-shirts, and the poem with you.
because love shall die when the last lover dies.

i leave this poem here for you to continue, or until i return back
and when i come back, i will—