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Why did I always want to see your paintings

Why did I always want to call you before sleeping

just to hear you sing

so I could sleep deeply

with butterflies and birds

appearing in my dreams

and the next morning

your warm message

Good morning

you must have slept well

The first time we met

I told you

you will think about me

you will miss me

and you will call me later

and you did

just to tell me

you couldn’t stop thinking about me

I don’t know

why that still sounds so familiar

that even when I get a wrong number today

for a second

it feels like you are calling

just to hear my voice

which hasn’t changed much

and if I call your name

maybe you will hear it

somewhere inside your mind

I gifted you my poem

written over your painting

inside a nice frame

you said

I shouldn’t have put my name on it

you didn’t want your dad to see it

and wonder

who you had been meeting

I wasn’t that bad

though maybe

I shouldn’t have waited outside your house

and called you

just to make you look through the window

not a brilliant move

in broad daylight

in a village

where gossip travels

faster than love

I thought you were rebellious

and would accept my madness

I didn’t know

you were as serious

and morbid

as the society around you

maybe that alone

was enough to end

what we had

a relationship

that was never named

never framed

unlike the poem

I gave you

Your dream catcher

is probably long gone

thrown into the trash

but sometimes

I still feel it hanging somewhere

catching the bad dreams

before they reach me

and leaving only you

singing

wishing me good morning

but now

the messages are empty

the phone doesn’t ring

nothing pops up

and between you and me

there are only

big walls

and somewhere behind them

a dream catcher

still swinging