Pashmina

Will you give me your pain?

your precious pain that you hold onto so dearly,

more dearly than that you hold onto your little happiness.

Your pain,

that you have weaved into a pristine pashmina,

that you have folded into cascading layers of a waterfall,

and snuck it away into the little corners of your eyes.

Tell me, would you show me that pain?

let me touch it, hold it and feel it?

No?

What makes you so selfish about your pain?

Tell me, does it keep you strong at night?

Tell me, does it softly echo your memories?

Tell me, does it turn away your blue silences?

Tell me.

But…

I will be careful with it.

I will not let it peep out of my eyes,

Nor will I let it tremble through my cheeks.

I will not let it walk on my tongue,

Nor will I let it rattle through my veins.

Maybe?

I will save it. I will hide it, carefully.

I will cram it in the void between my bones and flesh

Neither will I slyly relish it,

Nor will I angrily devour it

I will simply sink it in the sea that lies between your words and my songs.

.

.

.

So, tell me, Will you give me your pain?