Fragments of February

a:

At night the light sneaks in

through the closed window

hues of white and blue

soft and smooth, gentle and kind.

I think you’re funny

the way you try to make me laugh

but not too much

because it’s too early 

what we do is library laughing

scared of getting caught. 

And just like the library 

it is a quiet pleasure, talking with you

so calm, I can barely hear you

like the pale blue almost white streetlight 

It fills the dark room without making noise.

2:

Sometimes I wish we could return, 

to measure distance by the time it takes to travel.

You would be three days away from me, 

the future is as bright as you.

It's Tuesday, 

and if I start walking l'd be in your arms by the weekend.

Then it will be bright, sometimes softly blue, 

like the streetlights outside your window, 

three days away from me.

again:

I think every word is poetry, 

or is it because you're in my head, 

next to the words, 

and you're very important, 

the main thought, 

so your halo shines on the words, 

in my head, 

and I think they're poetry, 

when I try to put it down, 

so I don't bother you, 

with the silly ideas in my head, 

and once they reach reality, 

where you are not here, 

they are no longer poems, 

just words, without you.

Conclusion:

I think of you

and the poem 

writes itself.