hopeful ramblings

attempting to thrive

[burgundymistress]

while the world outside drives itself mad and time seems to come to a close stop, i find warmth in our late night conversations. i heard somewhere that life is like the seasons and i’ve always liked that notion. sweetheart, if we are like the seasons then can you and i remain in this eternal spring? most days my thoughts are scattered like the drawings found within my collection of unfinished sketchbooks, silently wishing to be touched, but for you i find a reason to make sense of the words stuck to my lips. i have come to find that i love you in a similar fashion i tend to ramble endlessly about the things that make me feel alive. i study your little quirks like how i study art history, finding monet’s expressive brushstrokes in your shadow kissed eyes and your laugh being the fleeting moment of spontaneity the impressionists spent their lives trying to capture onto canvas. i found picasso’s secret messages left throughout your body, a language i’m all too fluent in. all the passion from the renaissance paintings splayed on your tongue and i’m the only one paying close attention. i love you in the ways we come undone— primal and intoxicating, left breathless but satisfied... i can hear your smile in my favorite soundtrack giving me the strength to face the day and peel off these blankets. my darling doesn’t know about all the ways i keep running back to him, like all our worries and fears finally answered and being replaced with a lightness only springtime brings. what does it mean to love another person? it’s feeling at home when you read to me before bed. it’s never standing a fighting chance to the way you rave about flowers. it’s being eager to take care of you when sick, admiring the beauty amid your vulnerability. it’s having known all too well about the scars your heart bares and instead of walking away, exploring every little piece of your being. didn’t you know? you’re my heart.

— what is loving someone to you?

[burgundymistress]

my lover says these days it becomes harder to recognize the pair of eyes that meet his weary, morning gaze. he cut his hair a few months ago just to remind himself of what it feels like to miss something. all he wants is to grow into somebody he can be proud of— a good man, he says. a great one, one whose heart did not carry all the marks of past mistakes. maybe a head that wasn’t so heavy with pain and so familiar with death. i didn’t have the heart to interrupt his train of thought and instead lent him my smile. sometimes all a lonely soul wants is to be listened to, the simple act of being noticed and seen; is that too much to ask? i know that time is a fleeting, momentary thing and that life is much too brief and you’ve always been quite hard on yourself, but never once have i thought you to be anything short of wonderful. you’ve always been something of a phenomenon to me; unexplainable in the same way an artist is never quite able to express what it is about their dance with paint, ink, and paper that moves their soul to create a piece worth sharing. rare and stunning in the way your body moves when making love; but always familiar when your fingers move across my neck, looking for a warm place to rest further down the trail of my back. you’re timeless in the same way you love people, freely and without rhyme or reason. simply because that’s who you are and if not made to love those in our lives, why exist at all? my lover says he can’t remember how to be the creative soul he used to be and i can’t help but think of how he has never ceased to be the hue of red that makes up my palette. how his presence is a poem i can’t stop reading into, always clinging onto each word and holding my breath for more.

- “what do you love about me?”

[stargazerinmoksha]

are you in relationship?

“my lover is like the ocean— unapologetic and fierce, never settling for just a single crash on the shoreline. loud and rambunctious, but quiet and soft when need be— loving, but tender and demands to be heard.”

—h.k.

[burgundymistress]

“my lover is like the setting sun and rising moon— consistent. chaotic and seemingly misplaced, but found where he needs to be— restless, but always stuck to my lips.”

— e.e.

[stargazerinmoksha]

She hasn’t been sleeping well as of late and life finds a way to tear her down. No one said it was going to be easy, she leaves all of her art on the floor as time makes peace with her loneliness. She takes a drag with a friend, she has never really been quite into smoking, but as of late— a light touch of death is a reminder that living and surviving are two different things. She’s not looking for love because she never lost it. Love has always looked like an extension of herself, she finds peace within music, art and poetry. It doesn’t have to make sense right now, life, my darling... it’s definitely a work in progress. If her heart could count itself to sleep with every beat, then when she tells you that she loves you and she just really need you to listen, slow down. Take a breather, and listen. It doesn’t take much to make her smile, haven’t you met someone like her? All of the sadness in one place, she keeps her aching laced with softness— she knows when to brave and where to keep happiness. Sometimes I find myself wondering if there’s a world out there where all of the miracles meet up to see which person they’d go to next. I wonder if they handpick people based on chance or something else entirely. She doesn’t know where I keep my happiness, she just knows what it looks like when I say that I feel lost, I feel empty. I can count on one hand the number of times she has fallen in love, I don’t think love is everything, but love is right up there. Next to sleep, next to writing, next to creating something beautiful. She tells me that the world has too problems, so she refuses to add to it. And if she wants to change the world, she knows she has to dig deeper than just the surface level of her aesthetics. We are, after all, connected in ways that we are unaware of. As I’ve gotten older, I see the patterns and connections between a true bond and what it feels like to unconditionally love someone. To love someone without expecting anything back, to genuinely love someone with expectations— that’s the hallmark of really being there and being a good person. She hasn’t been sleeping well and that’s okay, because you’ve got her back always.

—And is that really such a bad thing?

[burgundymistress]

fear:

i know it’s an idea we’ve been dancing around, but it’s a routine i can’t seem to get past. i don’t want to seek you out too much or not seek you out enough. if every rain drop is someone else’s idea of a bad day, can you be the storm that i get caught up in? or something along those lines because if i’m going to get wet at least it’s not alone, kind of existence, maybe something more rose-tinted—

fear.

i know it’s not something that i should be anxious about, but the thought of losing you terrifies me. sometimes the cold that seeps from your side of the bed is enough to keep sleep away. the sound of your loneliness tastes bitter through the phone, and i cannot prevent every pang of depression or cloud filled mornings blocking out the warmth of the sun in your days, but if i can be of any use— i’d love to help you smile. darling you’re like forgotten love letters left in my bed sheets, you’re my dancing in the jazz section of a music store kind of love, even if it seems misplaced— it simply means you’re odd and spontaneous enough for me. my lover doesn’t know how to not exist differently and that’s something that i’ll always love about him.

fear—

you have this thing you do, every time that you do it a laugh leaves my lips. beautifully. maybe it’s something that you said. maybe it’s something that you did with your hands. maybe it’s something that you did with your lips. you’re passionate in so many different ways. you’re hard headed and rational when needed, all things lovely, but you’re also unapologetically honest and attentive to reality. you say that a life isn’t lived unless it has had its share of a few mistakes, a poem isn’t finished until it has a few mistyped words, a piece of art is no different that written prose. the artist must kiss paint onto canvas in place of the familiar energy the writer leaves, in the space of things that inspires the heart to shatter and bloom— and maybe that’s exactly what love is, you’d say.

[burgundymistress]

[burgundymistress]

your voice bleeds red like the flowers you picked from my garden.

— i’d like them back.

[burgundymistress]

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i wait for you on the sugary sands by the sea where the sun and sky last kissed. where you pulled my body close to yours.

where your hands were holding mine.

where we stood with heads tilted upwards to try and catch the sun,

you said we must’ve done it right because it set that night.

we met love at every turn, never once regretting our decisions even if we got lost. won’t you stay right here, just a little while longer? drinking wine and tangled in a messy bed as the stars dance across the seemingly infinite shades of blue.

i have a secret to confess.

i have spent the majority of my life with a paintbrush at hand, and even more time spent finding excuses to defend my love for art.

i don’t spend days writing, if little to none. but for you, i gladly replace the paint with ink and the brush with a pen, only to frown at my results.

it’s never quite good enough— that’s especially true when it comes to you.

i am not your first lover, i am not your second, nor am i your third.

the only question left is, will i be your last?

you once told me that if i choose to ever break your heart, it’s quite alright. all that you ask is that i break it into fours.

not in half, not like everyone else.

that way even if you don’t have my smile to pin onto your chest, you have a piece for each season to let the flowers blossom.

i have so many questions, like why do we cling onto each other? will we always be this way? where do we go from here? so i’ve been trying to find answers within your lips, tracing my fingertips across your braille skin. i haven’t found answers yet so i’ll spend the rest of my life searching and if i get lost then at least it’ll be sweet.

it must be a mutual thing i think, because you can’t help but keep sticking to my caramel skin.

so when i fall asleep, its only to meet you in my dreams.

and when i finally wake up, i can still taste your sincerity.

we like spending time talking about the people we used to be, and the lives we must’ve lived, and the people that we once loved.

like maybe in the life before this one you were my favorite kite but you flew away and we spent the rest of time trying to get back to one another. like maybe in another life we were childhood best friends, growing up in neighboring houses, and we secretly fell in love but never had the courage to confess. maybe in another time, we were strangers who accidentally bumped into one another and walked away. looking back at different times so our eyes never locked into a gaze.

and maybe that in each lifetime, when we got to briefly meet love but never had a proper introduction, it was simply so that in this one we could.

— music by the songbirds, e.e. & h.k. 

[stargazerinmoksha]

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to all of the dreams you may have wished today, i know that one day they’ll all come true. i know that we’re all short of wanting and needing and not always getting what we want, but faith and hope are just a few things we’ll need.

that, i know.

[stargazerinmoksha]

they say home is where your heart is, but inside of my bones you’ve always swelled up deeper than marrow or stringing along the highs of my voice and the lows of my sadness— they say that home is where your heart is, but i know better. home looks like you when you just finished your long hours of painting with bristles still drying from the howling of art that doesn’t sleep well when i’m not around. home sounds like you when you first wake up and you’re all alone, i can still smell the morning air that surrounds your daily routines— sometimes i wish you were more than just a separate person, i knew love could be sweet, but never quite like this. i don’t know where my heart is, home doesn’t know where to keep it. so i’ve been borrowing more time and finding more reasons to choose you each and every time. if home looks like your smile, darling, this shall do just fine. I found the wings of an angel in the wisps of your laughter trailing behind everything the sun forgives. If trees only bend from carving our first kiss, I think it’ll be okay to leave your window open tonight. I found a light that doesn’t dim beyond the taxes we pin to the sun, a revolving door that holds mail with the satisfaction of summer rain. If we only walk as far as your next breath, knowing the ocean won’t stop until it feels your crimson cheeks again is a promise I’ll write on the inside of every hand I meet. Blunt edges and soft dreams, you’ve held every word I haven’t said. There are different types of strength, and darling, softness is yours. Forever is too heavy to hold, so let’s just carry today. And if you ever get lost drawing in circles, I’m always outside whispering your name into the wind - listen.

— happy birthday, we love you always, always.

[stargazerinmoksha]

[burgundymistress]

dear watercolor gentleman,

i’ve been thinking about the way you hold my hand. why do you hold on so tightly sometimes? like you’re ensuring that i’m really here, like at any moment i might just vanish. like if you let go, the world might just stop spinning. like the sun might just stop shining. like in a few seconds, you’re going to pull me in for another stolen kiss.

everything else is secondary.

i’m in love with your existence.

signed,

your gemstone heart.

[stargazerinmoksha]

[burgundymistress]

even when i cry.

even when i grow quiet.

even when i’m lost.

you’re always there to calm me down and talk me to sleep.

i catch myself making excuses to miss you. like finding reasons to talk about the rain, even when it has nothing to do with the weather. i know you feel the same. cariño, is it too soon to confess that i’d like to spend the rest of time i have getting lost with you? we’re such adventurous spirits—rooftop star gazing, sunset beach swimming, midnight grocery shopping. you’re the reason behind all my run ons, i have come to realize that there’s simply not enough words in a sentence to express the way you make me feel.

mi corazón siempre será tuya. extraño tus besos y tu dulce riza llena de vida.

[stargazerinmoksha]

“my best friend. it has a certain ring to it, like we’ve known one another for quite some time— my best friend, likes to stay up late to entertain restless minds. my best friend has more time for others than she does for herself and that thought alone makes me more than just a little sad, my best friend is a color that the clouds can’t house— my best friend is a shade of red that falls when roses wither. my best friend is a melody empty hearts easily fall into rhythm with. rarely do they stay for the last verse, and i can’t help but want to be one of the few that do. i think when she was younger, she liked the taste of honey because it masked the bitterness that comes in between the changes of seasons. my best friend doesn’t know how to not love people, i believe she has a heart made of gold, king midas’ greatest treasure. too big and too rich to not be stolen, too pure and too heavy to not sink. my best friend is drawn to the ocean— having learned to let go by admiring the waves, sometimes when i feel alone, i’m reminded that i’ve not learned everything about myself yet. it’s okay to be gentle to yourself. it’s okay to be vulnerable to others. it’s okay to accidentally fall in love when you least expect it. it’s okay to smile when you’re unhappy as fuck. it’s okay to go out until it’s past your bed time. it’s okay to have some fun when you’ve been kinda down. it’s okay, it’s okay. my best friend plays with words because they make her feel safe, if her soul was made out of poetry does that mean that she cries poems? every single teardrop is a home that i want to live in. protection within such tiny hands, aggression to want to live life to the fullest, my mind has been touched by you from every angle, you inspire a softer muse to play the literature in my veins— my heart doesn’t feel sad when i think of you. depression fucks off when you’re around. my best friend grows weary from time to time, wary of misplacing her love. she tells me that sometimes it’s best to fall with a hopeful heart and with eyes closed. i think she thinks too much, but it’s quite alright, there’s only more to love she says. sometimes it’s hard to not be so negative all of the time, but when i feel lost and not quite here— my best friend is a constant reminder to stay present and enjoy every moment for what it really is instead of what it’s not. she says her favorite color is blue, not because she’s sad, but because she finds warmth in the coolest shades of the bruised night. she tells me that scars are just a reminder of the things we have seen, and the people we have loved. darling, you’re human— don’t be so hard on yourself. sometimes i wish she would remind herself of the same. i’m not very religious, but when i pray, i pray for you. so when i find a dandelion i can’t help, but wish for her to get a good night’s sleep. lately, i’ve been making excuses to think of you, is that alright? is that okay? i think i’ll continue doing so, i rather like the idea of loving someone into something greater than myself. my best friend. it has a certain ring to it, like you won’t let me down and i won’t let you go. you’re full of positive vibes and good feelings— thank you for always adding more value to my life. it has to get better, your favorite answer to my lingering questions of what ifs. i love you falls short when it comes to you, so i’ll say it again. i love you, thanks for reading.”

– my best friend doesn’t sleep well & that’s okay.

by caramelentries and freethesongbirds

[stargazerinmoksha]

—honeycomb confessions

from e.e. and h.k.

[burgundymistress]

my favorite way to spend the day, my happiness making peace with yours, my soul’s dance, my apologetic nature dashed up in flames, my worst fears come to life when i think about a life without you. i love you doesn’t always have to be complex, it can be simple like me. like you. i love that about you.

“it’s raining today.” My sweetest confessions are spoken aloud between a daily weather forecast, I can hear the smile in your voice without ever having to open my eyes. I love that about you, it’s simple and pure— I love that about us. “I miss you even more today,” but you already knew that.

[burgundymistress]

you’re honestly, such a beautiful soul to me.

When I think of the rain, I think of your lips.

[burgundymistress]

“There are specific songs that remind me of you. Thoughts of you flood my head as I find pieces of our conversation tucked within the melody of an acoustic song, the keys of a piano, the sound of a smooth voice, and a feeling of nostalgia— something intimate. Like somehow my being reminded of you in this song is your way of letting me know you love me. You’re my best friend, that’s a truth I’ve known for the longest of time it seems. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? An existence I’ve been so dedicated to, a smile that can still bring warmth to my insides, a soul who strikes an uncanny similarity with mine. I know some days we grow more quiet than others, I know some months we cry more days than we smile— I know some mornings we’re close to parting ways. Isn’t it funny how we always find a way back to one another? Like my patience, waiting here is evidence that it’s okay to invest into things. Or how we seem to sometimes be a little off timing. Like we’re both standing at opposite sides of a street waiting for the light to turn green and greet one another again. Hello— I’ve missed you. I guess it’s not so much waiting as it is knowing that one day waking up to your sleeping self will be a routine we’re accustomed to. Will you be patient with me? I think that if anyone can do this it’s you and me. Artists and writers, we wear our hearts on our sleeves— well, I guess it’s true. Mine is sewn into the palms of your hands. Hold it softly, be tender, and always honest. It’s been nice to grow alongside you these past years, I’m thankful you exist.”

— to the heart i call home.