#purplewithadashofpink

[heartofmuse]

Unsent Love

HIM 

Like clockwork. 3:55 pm, the mailman stops to deliver my letter. The better of me written neatly in pen. The zen I get from exchanging quips, with you, without a care in the world. I unfurl in gashing splashes over cried ashes of letters I want to send. Alas in the end we’re still just friends and I’m not going to risk our adieu.

 Ink spills over stanzas crossed, embossed in darkness that forever miss your eyes. A look of surprise? would you run and hide? or would I, like sunrise become a fleeting thought in your day. Blown away like grains of sand sifting through shifting wind, would you ever recognize me again. My blessed friend, how I long to share my heart, while words depart, before they ever get the chance to be sent. 

 Spent nights like life can feel eternal. As I write out this journal. Internal rehearsals like verbal reminders, fires burn fibers that have never even felt your touch. Pages turning, yearning to be met by your eyes. It’s no real surprise. Ties felt, melt hearts colder than mine and baby you shine. Your voice on pages, stages of falling, calling my name. This heart blocked by indecision always falls short of happy visions. Unwritten rhythms like prisms, prisons dispersing my heart. 

-c.S @argumentsfromwithin

 HER

I keep waiting for the time when your letter arrives to see the traces of you on paper and pen. I smile at the thought of you writing them for me, a kind of a Polaroid of that instant when you are thinking of me. I read them over and over again and feel the paper between my fingertips, smell the ink and wrap around them soft satin ribbons to put them away next to the lavender, jasmine and rose petals I keep. I sit then to write a response but don't say all I want to. What would you say if you knew I am falling in love with you?

 I often wonder if he knew about the ones I write but don't send, the ones where I really say all I want to say and hide nothing from the page. As I write these, my heart wanders to yours on the flightless wings of ink birds that perch on my bureau. I keep them tied to the fear that you heart will not receive them kindly so they wait here for a time maybe when I will set them free and they might fly to you as they have always wanted to.                                                   

The ones I do send, I write with the hope that you will read beyond what in ink and letters is expressed and you will feel the sentiment hidden and repressed. I write and rewrite trying to find the words that are just right. It takes me hours on end to come up with barely one page. Then in my neatest handwriting I transcribe these words that have come to mean the world to me because they have been written for your eyes and heart and in each turn of the pen, in each curve of my lettering, I squeeze as much beauty as I can for you deserve nothing less. Then it is all done and I douse it with my perfume so maybe my scent will bring my presence to you, I’ll include flowers from my garden so you will know life and beauty as my love grows. And so I wait, for your next letter to arrive.

-e.v.e. @heartofmuse

[heartofmuse]

Mending Broken Hearts

Let my chest be the sheath in which you store your dagger, let the haggard moans of this body whom no longer knows the light of your love, be but a warning to the world of your savage beauty, the way you looked through me, I begged you to see the light that you held behind tired eyes but your line of sight shot up with might, above my head, above clouds to plateaus my heart wouldn’t dare dream of. So I write of this lost love, this barren land, sand like time blows freely in the wind and all the water in the world is not enough to drown out this gritty taste of sorrow, please tomorrow, bring relief, brief disbelief that my heart hasn’t shattered and blown away. That I haven’t lost pieces, in these yesterdays.

Let my heart be the sheath where you store your pen, an endless fountain of rose wine ink to save these memories. A love that could never be but still felt so passionately. I call out your name every night in the wind and it brings your sorrow to me. Clothed in darkness, the pieces of my soul that long for yours. You never knew that I only left to protect you. My own demons too dark and fearsome to be let into your light. They might destroy you and how could I live with that?

Let my soul be the sheath that stores your shattered dreams, my battered queen. Like I haven’t seen, this darkness that haunts you. This aching that taunts you, through daily battles, echos rattle the world around you. I’ve always seen through the lies, the daily goodbyes like they’re permanent forever, as you look to the sky. But I see you, I really do I’ve always known what I was getting into. You tried to hide what you couldn’t and you were silent the times you just wouldn’t. You shouldn’t run from someone who loves despite your flaws. To me, you’re still beauty, I don’t see anything else at all.

Let my soul be the sheath in which you place your heart so we can be together. If you truly love all I am then let me open this chest so you can find your home at last. I promise you not clear skies but I do promise not to let go of your hand. Allow my darkness to stand in your light, my plight nearly putty in your hands. I will fan this flame and take any pain you’ve found, the sound of two strangers meeting on the edge of darkness and maybe we will find comfort and understanding and fill the pieces of one another’s broken souls.Let chaos be our connection, to open doorways to a higher plane where love is not bound to perfection but brought together by imperfections, bring forgiveness, let sympathy simply be, two hearts that beat as one.

c. S & e.v.e.

Wonderful collab with my amazingly talented friend @argumentsfromwithin. Always a pleasure writing with you!

[heartofmuse]

Unseen Words

How beautiful are words that never get put to paper! Tapered vapors rising to your liking. Striving to explain feigned rain falling over leaky rooftops. Vainly making sure, slurred words don’t make the final cut. Bright sheen over glossy paper reminds me that I’m not finished writing yet. My words can be mangled when they lose redeeming truths. Stealing meaning from seeing eyes. No surprise, these poems like lies that never could explain the whole story.

And before my fingers can fix them to the page, they escape as they frantically run to fall off the sharp edge and into the fog that in my mind lurks. There they hide and take refuge from prying eyes, harsh judgments and salacious interpretations. Comfortable they play in the vast unending maze and find others that will do the same but sometimes they are just too crowded and look for a way out and so I lurk like a tiger ready to pounce. Sometimes they fall perfectly and grace the page with their amazing beauty and radiance but sometimes these corpses of thoughts in mangled macabre dance mock reason and logic.

And on the right night when the moon is bright in the sky my eyes flood with memories. They see wisdom in the things I’ve forgotten. Not often, mind you, do true intentions get mentioned, but when they do they’re flowing, growing with intensity, glowing in the things that be. The truth I see finally worthy of your vision. Decisions to tell who I am not in sand but with my hand scribed forever in ink. On the brink of breaking through, if you only knew, the things that I do. The things that aren’t yet said.

Things I haven’t yet found the words for. Words that get stuck in the ink that stains my hands and I can’t seem to be rid of because the time is not right, maybe, to tell the stories that lie inside. I play with shadows and light to bring them out, to make sense of chaos, a price must be paid. I will pay my pound of flesh as turbulent emotions churn again, ancient truths I buried resurrect, and wounds open as memory’s knife dissects, all to breathe life into the ink that I spill for your benefit or maybe for my own? I really don’t know. 

-c.S and e.v.e.

Wonderful collab between @argumentsfromwithin and @heartofmuse. Odd stanzas him.  Even stanzas her.