kiril vasilev

You are a miracle.
You are a miracle
that happened to someone else.

You are a story in a book
I’ll never be able to read.

You are the idea of a vacation
in another solar system.
Gorgeous, adventurous
erotically enigmatic
and infinitely impossible.

You are a wavelength
I’ll never be able to decipher,
a sound frequency
I’m unequipped to hear.

You are the anticipation of
a Christmas that will never come;
an Easter that is only a dream.

You are the ninth circle.
You are Lazarus, a light
towards which flowers blossom
even in winter.

You are intricate,
outside of language, and beautiful.
The space outside of space.

You are a miraculous implosion of pearls,
a millon glints of heaven raining down upon the Earth;
this Caribbean isle on the peak of Everest.
A paradise — I’ll never enter.

You are a miracle.
You are a miracle
that happened to someone else.
A shooting star that went by
on a night that by fate
or by chance; I missed.

(Source: thoughtcatalog.com)