Parlez-Moi D'Amour

People don’t talk anymore. They keep the demons trapped somewhere between the silences that linger around. The small talks that lay over for hours over coffee fails the effortlessness mask of curiosity. There is a ringing of laughter and a string of unkempt giggles that compliment the verbal ongoing. A snappy remark catches you off guard and intrigues on the ajar doors of curiosity. But you slip the moment and it goes by, unattended. The door stays closed and the voices in your head erupt into laughter of mocking your folly.

I dig into the unsaid words that don’t touch your lips and stay stuck in you neurons. It’s your desperate attempt to whelve your own gut that catches me off guard and intrigues me. I try to lure my melancholous self into sweet nothings, still aching to intrude into your mind. It is somewhere between this hula hoop in my mind that I fall asleep, each night.

But here is the thing. I want you to talk, every one of you. I want to enjoy the undressing of your camouflage and see the person hiding somewhere in the attic of spaces. I want to hear the unsweetened reality. I crave to embark on an epiphany and get to know the person wanting to cast away the facade. I yearn to see your unclothed self and make friends with your naive foolishness. I want to laugh with you and cry with you and see what colour your heart is. I want to be turned on by the innocence of your soul. I want to know it’s fears and deepest secrets. I wish to sow the plantations of light in those deep dark corners.

But I can’t do that. Unless, you talk.