sweaty pallor.

 When the night fades its light,

the darkness sleeps your senses and the

priorities disappear.

If insomnia covers the quiet nights

you, you monitor every sound

that hides the voice from your silence.

You would settle for being the thought

of someone who is not afraid of the dark.

How many rooms do we have left to discover?

The houses

ours are so different that yours doesn't match mine

and mine wouldn't fit in yours.

And here we evict rooms,

we search for spaces among so many memories,

we order shelves or change them for more stable ones,

we decide what is worth saving and fill bags of oblivion,

airing even the most hidden space,

a coat of paint wouldn't hurt either.

So we continue days and hours of sweaty paleness,

with the fear of not finding spaces to share.

The simplest thing would be to join your house with mine,

respect all that we were and allow us to come to us,

to build new bigger and brighter rooms hand in hand, ours

us creating our world.