What brought you back at this time
when the color of grey is not grey anymore
when even the thought of death is not appealing
when the parade of dreaming silence became enjoyable?
What could even make your voice to reach me
when the sound of silence tortured my soul
when my ears are forced not to hear
when my heart is a numb pump?
What would make me to answer after all
after all I learnt how not to reply
after all our imaginary talk
after all the self-hate?
What makes me reply is the love,
beyond the pain.
It’s just a hidden source
of an ever self-denial,