There I stood by you with my black boots on,
somehow a bit similar to yours,
I wonder if we belong to a common world in anyway,
‘May be’ was the only consoling word I had.
You walked,
I walked,
we walked,
I found the invisible distance in-between.
I widen my steps to walk with you,
my soul smiled secretly the time,
when you gestured to stay with me,
Happy was my soul.
You looked down the city combing your hair with your fingertips,
when I watched our shoulders leaning one another,
you were busy lightening your cigarette,
when I whispered my wishes with the sunset.
We, lost in our world of dilemma,
searched for words to bring up time,
when the silence spoke more than words,
lifting our eyebrows,
was all we did.
The chilled wind bounded the evening,
when the comfort created the romance,
and the romance wrapped around the fingertips,
it rolled so perfectly,
that I only remember the playful touch.
Maybe this is what people call love,
And maybe this is what I call a touch of romance.
Mashutzo Writes.
