I will never say: I love you is a poem written by Eeva Maria Al-Khazaali and shared with The Ugly Writers under the theme Ulayaw for the month of February
I will never say: I love you
Blue butterflies, you gave me.
The moon shines over the globe
as I write.
Yours as mine, mine as yours.
The dawn will catch you.
The solitude of confessing
my passionate adoration for you
remains on this page and
running away from troublesome
realism at the edge of my bed.
These lines will not be unread by you.
You are reading them, checking the placement
of each letter, each comma
written for you
you, who read with a steady gaze,
rational, realistic, a tender coldness
so familiar to me already.
You, who read with a grace and poise and feel
your feelings in silence.
I play the scenarios that keep me from falling
asleep as the skies above the wisdom of your eyes
agree, maybe even nod gently: on a pillow of clouds
the strand of your hair, tumbled up,
half-awake, half-asleep in front of this
poetry
as you are holding on to a book, a body,
carrying it around in some apartment
— which neither won’t be mine.
Such is the truth.
I’m chasing the honesty of a faintly audible whisper
appearing in a dream, in which I confess to
and confess my gratitude of walking into you
and the generous portrait painted
in this language of you,
with you
in a way I know you will understand.
In day, the landscape around you is caressing.
The unlikely emotional sun watching over as you
interpret the attempts to disguise any fleeting moment
of adoration for you into the linguistic concepts.
In another scenario your feet stand on the ground
as the hay grows around you,
in your summer/my winter
whereas to love
is equal to only knowing
you.
