I saw a video saying women want to be described. A man with one tooth could say "You remind me of the colour orange" and she'd fall in love.
I just wish you'd appreciate how I describe you. Instead you look at me as if I was speaking a foreign language. Smiling through it all, don't act like nothing happened. Don't take my feelings and act as if you didn't spur them on, you witch. You kind hearted, brown eyed woman with the loveliest laugh on this planet. Oh how I love you, the only way you'll feed me is through the tears falling from my eyes. My heart is so sad, I really do feel it in there, my heart is sobbing, sobbing blood through my veins into my poetry, into my writing. I am my own muse.
I am such a greedy man. The time I have in this world felt insufficient for the amount of things I'd like to experience, to see the many sights of the world and to learn all the skills I could possibly acquire.
But then you appeared.
Do you know the gravity of your name in my life? You distort my thoughts, you are an active, conscious presence in the forefront of my mind, your fingers are warm like my mother's hug after playing with the snow. How dare you. Suddenly all the time I have is enough as long as every experience I have contains the essence of you in it. I hate how you matter so much to me now, I hate how I cry and wail but no amount of pain will dilute or dissolve your lovely stain on my life. I will never forget the colours of you. A bright red, a dark brown and a touch of sunshine in your stupid laugh.
I told myself it would hurt to love again. Yes, yes indeed. You wound me like a footstep. How dare you.
I lay here on the floor wondering how people still convince themselves to love. Despite all our struggles and failures we still find it in ourselves to give love a chance, believing in the good in others that we hardly see in ourselves. Why? I really don't get it either, wouldn't it be so much easier if we could just give up, or be terrible people, hate a little more and love a little less, but we don't resort to that. We never resort to that.
The only ones in harms way is ourselves if we love selflessly while we ram into a brick wall convinced that one way that brick wall will no longer be a brick wall but a warm embrace of chocolate coated arms and cinnamon fragrant clothes. Oh how sweet that must be, for those who have that right now, I plead with you to love and love until your heart bursts at the seams and never ever stop being kind to each other.
I want to love so badly, I want you and you and you and you and you until the world stops to a halt under the weight of my affection and every Oxford dictionary only contain the words that describe how good you smell, how warm your fingers feel when they interlock with mine and how you made me feel when I believed I would ram into that brick wall again but I found your embrace. I wish you could see all that I write for you despite how I seem on the outside, don't walk away with a pained smile when you know all that I crave for is your wicked, sweet embrace. I wish I could separate myself from what you would not fall for like I can separate salt from seawater with science.
I realize now Coldplay was right, The Scientist can never figure out love but I was never a scientist. I am an Artist, a Poet, a Lover through and through but I can never become what you would love in that way. So why do I try to approach this logically? Why do I try to reason with your reasons and try to move my heart with calculations that just don't apply to you? Why why why why why why why why? Is Why a question of Science or of Art? I could not move you with both, and now both don't make sense to me. My eyes will well up and I will remember you wouldn't want me to cry for this reason. I know you never meant to hurt me but that does not matter, the Heart bleeds into ink for this writing, for my poetry, my Heart weeps and wails as that warmth disappeared and I'm met with cold, hard concrete and carbon. I will be okay. I will be okay.
I lay here on the floor wondering how people still convince themselves to love. Despite all our struggles and failures we still find it in ourselves to give love a chance, believing in the good in others that we hardly see in ourselves. Why? I really don't get it either, wouldn't it be so much easier if we could just give up, or be terrible people, hate a little more and love a little less, but we don't resort to that. We never resort to that.
The only ones in harms way is ourselves if we love selflessly while we ram into a brick wall convinced that one way that brick wall will no longer be a brick wall but a warm embrace of chocolate coated arms and cinnamon fragrant clothes. Oh how sweet that must be, for those who have that right now, I plead with you to love and love until your heart bursts at the seams and never ever stop being kind to each other.
I want to love so badly, I want you and you and you and you and you until the world stops to a halt under the weight of my affection and every Oxford dictionary only contain the words that describe how good you smell, how warm your fingers feel when they interlock with mine and how you made me feel when I believed I would ram into that brick wall again but I found your embrace. I wish you could see all that I write for you despite how I seem on the outside, don't walk away with a pained smile when you know all that I crave for is your wicked, sweet embrace. I wish I could separate myself from what you would not fall for like I can separate salt from seawater with science.
I realize now Coldplay was right, The Scientist can never figure out love but I was never a scientist. I am an Artist, a Poet, a Lover through and through but I can never become what you would love in that way. So why do I try to approach this logically? Why do I try to reason with your reasons and try to move my heart with calculations that just don't apply to you? Why why why why why why why why? Is Why a question of Science or of Art? I could not move you with both, and now both don't make sense to me. My eyes will well up and I will remember you wouldn't want me to cry for this reason. I know you never meant to hurt me but that does not matter, the Heart bleeds into ink for this writing, for my poetry, my Heart weeps and wails as that warmth disappeared and I'm met with cold, hard concrete and carbon. I will be okay. I will be okay.
One day, we'll no longer be looking at the same sky. The same clouds that pass my window won't be the clouds that you'll see when you go outside on your drives, on your walks or your little escapades.
Will you miss me then? I wish everyone could feel how the sun feels when I'm with you. I used to be afraid of warmth, I sweat too much, my skin flares up and I just feel so exposed, but with you I feel as though warmth is like a blanket on a cold cozy night, the sun feels like how it looks in cartoons, the sun has that little smile on its face like how we used to draw in our tiny art classes in kindergarten. The grass is a little greener and the air a little clearer.
Do you miss me now? While our sun still rises from the east to the west while I'm still in your west. One day my sky will look different from yours and I'll be wondering if my good wishes will travel through the skies to another time to another place to where you will be. If ever your moon is dim and my sun is bright, don't hesitate to call me over. I'll bring my sky with me.
Why wouldn't I? They're just large sheets of glass, right?
Sometimes though, if you take a closer look at these mirrors, you'd see stuff you wouldn't want reflected back at you. Those acne scars you tried hiding since 8th grade. Those bunny teeth your friends pointed out at 10th grade. Those insecurities of yours you so desperately try to hide.
For me though, they reflect a possibility. A buried hope. A wistful chance of you and I.
I dislike mirrors, but sometimes, I can't help from looking at the reflections in them.
She's 20 minutes late cause dad refused to get out of the house early, I got out of the house myself and took the train there while he slept in.
I'll deal with the repercussions later.
She's just got started with high school. I'm finishing college.
Her innocence, fresh with bruises and scars from void voices, berating her for things she didn't do, didn't know, things that weren't her fault.
She didn't know any better. How could she? She's still kid, contrary to popular belief, as well as her own. She fidgets and picks at the hangnails on her fingers, nervous and self-concious.
She realises and puts on that all too familiar mask, one that she painted and perfected for years in the place she was supposed to feel safest.
One that i wish that we didn't have to adorn so early.
Now ready, she starts the conversation.
It starts off simple:
She asks if we found what we want to do in life yet. I laugh and say no, as usual, our head and heart are at odds with each other.
She asks if we got what we wanted for SPM. I wince and tell her to move on.
Brows now furrowed, she scoffs and said, "So we are idiots." I roll my eyes at her bluntness, but I brush it off. Man, I forgot how bratty I was.
Moving on, she asks if we find love, I smile, keeping the fact that love is right around the corner for her.
"Just wait and see."
We order.
She gets a matcha frappe but struggles to finish it, I get a latte and chocolate cake, which she cringes at.
She's struggling with her body image so I can't blame her, I haven't stepped on a scale in years.
I wish she knew how beautiful she was.
She wonders if we're still close with them, I tell her we outgrew them. Like wildflowers, flourishing and fading with seasons, but the memory of them still remains.
She asks if mom and dad are still the same.
I tell her things aren't as bad as before.
...
They do get worse first, though.
She's quiet for a few moments.
Then, the dreaded question comes: Does it get better?
I pause.
...
I twist the truth. She can't know we relapsed. I can't let her be disappointed, not right now.
"We're finding peace. Things are going well."
She musters a small smile.
"I hope peace is soon."
Me too.
The next time i meet her for coffee, I promise I won't disappoint her.
janainaart
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
