writing away my ateez PCD💀
I met you on a September night in the middle of a sea of strangers, screaming my liquefied heart out into fleeting utopia written by stories in the form of faraway muses for a girl’s blooming fantasia.
I. Fire eyes and zealous blood crashed through the glass like a wave in a storm starved of savagery, sweeping me off my feet in the inception of a new age, the age of the opal at the centre of the world. In the spotlight, the opal glimmers white and unleashes its magic within, seven more colours shining as a brazen aurora - the eye of the storm. An eye I’ve stared into long enough to be buoyantly lost at sea watching longingly like a mermaid for the ships that will pass, soaking in the colours and sounds of their boisterous parties. Sometimes one too many ships come through, and I hope the stars tell their captain that the waters are calm enough to drop the anchor and sleep at night. He looks to the stars every sunset, yet he must always go on. He’s deafening hues and glittering dreams. He’s exquisite in his ferocious grind with beauty flowing from him in tunes and melodies that ripple through the vast ocean and glisten under the twilight. The stars never disappear after sunrise.
II. Too much stardust in the making of one person births new stars in the form of eyes which brim with uncontainable light spilling down smiling cheeks, strawberry-stained with soft, tender love. He’s the king of the stars, the light in the ship’s long nights spent sailing through quiet waters and turbulence. Every other star would fall from the sky to grant his wishes and renew to see him again, wrapped in pastel pink primroses that bloom in his glow. He holds the stars in his hands and tells them they are pretty, but doesn’t know we are more beautiful for the beauty that ebbs through his palms and his voice.
III. When he lets words and songs fall he’s the warmth in running a hand through the fur of a golden retriever after an afternoon in the sun. Evanesced honey encapsulates his golden being, a sweet promise of falling six feet and an inch deep into eternal sunshine. He reaches to the stars and takes them with him as the ship cruises into the ever changing horizon that echoes dreams of ballads he hasn’t even sung, but already fill the air. Say his name, and he is luminous.
IV. Existence meets artistry when body and soul is beautiful enough to rile the sea and capture the stars upon a graceful gaze, a smile ever so slight. The art he is blares across the seven seas in his quiet and he is divine, dazzling light and branded by Aphrodite’s kiss as her incarnation that walks the earth and sails the waves. A blue bird’s velvet feathers are smooth as an enchanted baritone for spellbound galaxies raining meteors for statuesque perfection come alive. The flower dances in the breeze, delicately lethal as poisoned perfume. I’m in love.
V. The most majestic mountain commands all eyes on its unrelenting spirit: dreamer, diamond, fever dream itself, a harbour for the ship. The mountain lives in a boy sculpted by celestial hands, gorgeous in a dancing illusion of menace before a winged heart cherry-coloured with romantic fervour. His voice bounces across the water and into the reflection of the stars, like a cue to let go of the breaths they had held, and breathe. He smiles like summer sun, dimples deep as the sea below that might overflow with the stars’ zeal. He’s all bewitching and more, more, more.
VI. He’s a flame, sunset-chrome fireworks ripping through the skies and stars turn to moths when his words cascade in rolling thunders. He’s in the lingering ring in my ears, the roar of thousands of voices, the arrow to hearts that skip a beat every time he proclaims his dynasty. Wake up world, his eyes say, and don’t stop staring. Yet he is cotton clouds and a sprinkle of rain to a hot day in August. A laughing conundrum, an untitled song.
VII. Can stars wish upon themselves? For ivory silk, black velvet, brimming heart and cherry lips. Foxy eyes that twinkle like a million fairy lights when he laughs out the answer to cloudy grey days. Torrents of love borne by one shining soul flood whole stadiums when he dances like lithe butterfly wings or morphs into a vivacious panther stealing stars with a biting gaze. He’s so achingly beautiful (he’s wonderland). All the stars would empty their light on the surface of the ocean just so he could see his reflection painted in loving reverence.
VIII. The apple of the eye of the storm boils the ocean with spellbinding song, raising magical mist all the way to shroud the stars in lavender, violet, indigo fantasies. He sings an eternity of new galaxies to life, one mortal holding up the cosmos with the finger every star is wrapped around, and new stars are born each day. The universe is still when his music fades, each star unblinking in awaiting for the next ship his smile may grace. Waiting, waiting, shining, still here. His timeless smile tells the world he is radiant even in the silence between songs - a lover loved to the edge of each universe.
You are here in the years I walk alone, sealing the cracks in the rocky road:
The curtain call of my teenage dream, the shore of my wild unknown.
You’re a September song I’ll dance into the dusk, ever and after the silence falls.
