Empty Conversations

An attempt at writing.

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Breathing

Sometimes I just lie in bed and breathe. It’s honestly the best feeling in the world at times. I take in slow breaths, fill my lungs to capacity. It reminds me that I am alive. I push all the air out, I deflate and make myself small. It’s a cycle. A constant routine of building myself up and shrinking myself down. Some nights it hurts. Others it gives me inspiration. Tonight it gives me both.

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The Night Sky

I want my own person. When I say that, I don't mean I want to rule, or dictate the life of another. Instead I want someone living their own life, that chooses to intertwine it with mine. The stars in the sky would not shine as bright without the dark sky behind it. I want to be your dark sky. I want to help illuminate you for the world to see. I want others to gaze upon your beauty in amazement. And when your time to shine is over I want to disappear from others eyes with you. I want people to wonder what we do when the light of the day is having its turn in the sky. I want to own you and be owned by you. Let me be your night sky.

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The best thing about seeing a man all dressed up is imagining taking all of it off of him. Peeling each layer of clothing off and revealing more of his soul as the night goes on.

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Silence

Sometimes the silence creeps up on me and covers my mouth so I can't breathe. But other times I greet the silence like a long lost friend that is returning from a far away trip. I sit with it, make tea, dance around to the taciturnity. Then I curl up and let the quiet cover me like a blanket as I drift to other worlds in pages that welcome me with familiar smells and creases. Tonight I need the silence. And yet it will not come to me.

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It's 2:01 am and I can not breathe without your warmth next to me to keep me alive.

The empty air is so cold...

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There are two types of people. Hopeless romantics, and realist. A hopeless romantic will see someone and create a beautiful love story in their head. They think of adventures to be had, the chase, the rush. The whispered conversations at three in the morning. The passion and the intimacy. A realist knows love does not last and there is no point in wasting their life chasing it. They see others as tools and conquest in their pleasure and life goals.

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Saving

I am done with thinking you will save me. I need to get over the idea you care about me as much as I care about you. You said you are focusing on "finding yourself" right now, and you need to figure out your life on your own. That's great. Really it's terrific. How can you deny someone who cares so much about you, when they are standing at the door of your soul, begging, pleading, and knocking with everything in them for you to let them in. You turn me away like a mutt in the rain. A disgusting, drenched, mud ridden mangey animal that just wants to come inside and give you more love than you have ever known. In a way I guess you have a point. Everyone needs to do their own saving. Isn't that a saying somewhere? "No one else is going to save you." "You've got to love yourself because no one else will." That's bullshit. The human soul was made to connect and feel with others of it's kind. Our soul was made to hurt and bleed and mourn with others. it was made to grow and love and learn with kindred souls. You can't tell me you don't lay awake at night with a burning whole in your chest, a faint uneven beating, a beating so concerning you have to check your pulse to make sure you are even still alive. That you haven't slipped into a coma like state in which you are trapped in your mind. Empty and alone. Yet you still say you can save yourself. You "need" to save yourself. That's fine. Save yourself. Don't expect me to pick up your remains when you don't catch yourself in time and you end up splattered across the pavement. Don't expect me to rush in and fight off the villains in your life that are holding you captive. Don't expect me to swoop in, in the nick of time and sweep you off your feet before you fall. You wouldn't do the same for me. We both know all that is a lie. That if you called I would be there in a heartbeat. I would wake up at three in the morning for you. I would give up sleep, assignments, food, mental stability. All for you. You break me. You are my defective part. If you stood at the door of my soul and knocked, I would answer the door in my sexiest lingerie. I would lead you by the hand into the depth of my being and give all of me to you. You can have me. I am the one that needs saving.