These Things Happen @m-blakew - Tumblr Blog

“Dear Anonymous, I do believe in soulmates. I’ve met a fair many actually. Not all were lovers, but they were all loved indeed. I met a tiny soul that knew how to giggle with braces and she always said that being free meant that we had to let go of our own greeds. She was the first time I realized my own selfish desires. I met this tiny soul and I finally tasted love for the first time. It was young, but love is love and that still hurt me. I met a soul that caught mine on fire and she still texts like I’d answer, to be honest with you, she’s reading this very poem with you. She’s dictating this whole section of this prose piece. She’s the namesake of my blog. She’s the reason why I’ve been dying on Tumblr for almost a year. She’s the reason I met my sister. She’s the reason I grew. She’s the reason why you get to ask these questions. And she’s reading this with you because that’s all that we’ll ever have left. Things to be written and things to be read. But that’s it, you know? Some stories cut short, but her story, it’ll never be exactly over. And I’ll regret typing these words, but I still love her like the first time I saw her smile and she’ll read this and go, yeah, I thought so, I guess for today, we can say that she has won. But the war is mine and this soul that caught fire on my arms, she will be something I can’t love, but she will be something that I can love; is that confusing? Let me explain. Love does these things to us. I’ve moved away from her so many times that she finally left. I broke her heart so many times that she finally cracked open mine. I took her hips one time too many, I guess some dances won’t ever happen again. I’ve seen her skin shine in the dark and I’ve seen her smile fade into the night. I’ve called her the sun before and some days, she still reminds. I’ve called her the moon before and some nights, she’s still mine. I told myself, this will be the last time I will ever write about you, but it never really happens. She’s my bad habit. She’s my addiction, but even addicts get a second chance, even bad habits disappear, and even poets stop immortalizing people who no longer appear within the words. She’s reading these words and she’s searching for happiness that we once shared and my apologies, but I no longer think about you and smile. This was a poem for the anon, but it seems that you’re still reading so, you can get a piece of the cake too. Some souls don’t last forever. When I say that, I mean they come and go as they please. They touch and burn themselves out. They fear more than they love and they resent more than they accept. But you see, that was our problem. WE. We… We were the problem. Identical in every way. I loved her every way. From her flaws to her perfections. From her smiles to her tears. From her intelligence to her shallowness. From her rivers to her deserts. From her nights to her days. We were so identical. We stopped accepting each other a long time ago. Sex destroyed us both. She never stopped me and I never really cared enough to be tender and gentle. Relationships suck, but you want know what’s worse? They end and you’re there; your mistakes, a ghost hanging from the ceiling. Your words the noose. Her goodbye, the death of me. Her touch, a reminder that even beautiful things can break us. Her smile, a reminder that lips do more than speak. Her laughter, a reminder that memories come knocking when you least expect it. She always gets the longest parts of my poetry when it comes to love, and it’s because she’s my longest relationship. She is a soul and I was lost within it for so long that I forgot about my own and she’ll be reading this and go, he never forgot. Baby, how could I? Even if you forget, I don’t think I ever can. And I have tried to move on, it didn’t work. I’m honest, I’m more over her now than months ago, but it’s not all the way there. Recently, however. I’ve met another soul. And this whole piece has gotten off track, but hear me out. She has dark hair that matches her smirky smile. When she’s around, my heart doesn’t think twice. It beats and beats. I seem to be a steaming kettle when she’s around. I seem to be out of breath when she talks. I seem too nervous because I don’t want to fuck this up. I seem to have this shaking inside of my bones and my hands can’t stop fissuring. I’m cracked and I think she notices. I’ve written her a few letters and maybe she’s afraid. Maybe, my words are nothing. Maybe she thinks I’m a loser, but it doesn’t matter. The thing is, I tried to get to know her. She has beauty, but I don’t know her insides. She has the looks, but I’ve yet to peek into her brain. She has the struggle beneath her eyes, I can see the bags containing a new universe. I can see a small sadness that yells a silent whisper of regrets. She smiles because she has to, and I’ve not known much peace but if there was ever anything more disturbing than having a crush on someone out of your league– It is the fact that she has yet to reject me. That scares me. At every corner, there’s an open letter to her heart. That scares me because the last time I wrote my heart for someone, they left my insides on the ground. That scares me because I don’t know how to act or how to write or how to breathe or how to talk. This shyness that I developed, it is most likely from guilt. I’ve come to the realization that I don’t know how to treat people properly. I don’t have respect for anyone but people who might penetrate my mind with something interesting. I don’t have kindness for stupid people because the world is full of it. I’m not a perfect man. Far from it, I’m imperfect. So the fact that you’re asking about relationships to me is kinda ironic. I’m the last person to tell someone how to love another. But if you want the truth. I’ve met all kind of souls. Every single person that I have loved. They were my soulmate. And the truth is. They don’t stay. They touch. They breathe down your neck. And then just like that. A dull part of your soul just completely sharpens itself and you’re using it to cut your heart from out of your own chest because your heartbeats sound so much like theirs you can’t fucking sleep and it still bothers me because even as she’s reading this; she’s going to skim through it quickly because that’s her method to not crying while reading my poetry. And I guess the tldr is… Soulmates do exist, they just don’t stay with you forever. Soulmates do exist, they just stay for a short period. Soulmates do exist, but just remember… Their definition of love won’t always be the same as yours.”

— To our soulmates (via poetryleftbyher)