Deceiving warmth.

'Cause reveries are short-lived, but only the warmth lives on. As the morning heat brings with it the vibrancies of purity and newness, I'm lost in thought of the faces dimmed out and mazed out and doped out and out there for me to search, with a pain that silences the tears and beats at your chest.
And as the familiarity of the situation, the been-there-felt-it feeling dawns on you, in a not so happy way, with a despair that's as perpetual as the warming glow that lights my cheek in those moments of cold when warmth is an exciting thing to live with. If only for an instant.

"But you can make me happy,
as only you can do"

I've had a confounding relationship with the colour yellow, with all its mysterious hues and dazes, it brings in loneliness that none but the lonely know. And as I hover about in the heat of the sunrise, only the unaccompanied hand tinges at the connecting veins, which go on to pull a plug at my mind, 'cause the heart only pumps blood, and I have shed the idiosyncrasies surrounding it, along with the childhood hopes.
And as I incessantly type with no cue of spaces, full stops and alterations or make-believes, I can only hope that these words flutter about in space and make a stop at your lips, the ones who's movement I was so accustomed to until yesterday. And all the while, I'll sit with a camera in my hand, trying to capture those hues of sunlight that come to me, staring at me in my face, desperately trying to convince me of conviction, and the irony of the credulousness will only make me shed a tear and move on.

P. S. My second last fantabulous february post! Sheds a silent tear.
Can check out Kanika's and the other posts here!