On his window
You know.
It's nice.
Being in his room.
Standing there, as if hiding from the world. Smiling within, and refraining, as if I've done something guilty.
But! O!
I am.
Loving him.
A guilty feeling.
Unanimous. Strange.
And I'm squinting against the bright sunlight that streams through his window.
And I'm drawing. Drawing a face on his window.
A face of my love to him.
A face with the symbol of my eyes, staring out.
A face that is at once immense, so powerful.
And all this while, I feel him staring.
Scrutinising.
Me and my behavior.
All eyes on his window.
And he is leaving.
Not as yet. But soon.
And I'm grabbing the only chance that I think I'll ever get.
Even though, towards the end, letting go might hurt.
Hurt painfully.
Slash my heart.
And all that blood of love.
Smeared on his window.