#rawrnts

[ranran-no-uta]

I guess I dont really matter to you as much as you are to me.

[ranran-no-uta]

There something cute about boys when they're in love

Like a herding dog, circling the sheep

[ranran-no-uta]

White Tulips

I told him I liked tulips and hydrangeas.

“Dramatic flowers,” he said.

“Very you,” but he never gave me any.

"I dont know, I have never touched a tulip before,"

It was another year on my birthday

he sent me my first.

The first and last from him.

When he did, I got the urge to told him, how flowers make me suffers like his love. But maybe my heart was not big enough to be changed with him.

I took a photo,

and gave it away to a girl.

The same way I gave away his love—

to her. Not looking back.

Why?

Because I saw my young mother in her,

and my old father in him.

And I wanted to protect her joy, punish him, clamp him with her. Because in this story, the other woman has some dignity and kind.

You're playing cupid. I am, but i am playing the themis and astraea.

He gave me lilies. Always something pink.

They spoke of innocence and sweetness,

and that was how I wanted our relationship to be—

a quiet return home,

sober, steady, safe.

In a way, he was.

But he said,

“You’ll never have anyone

if you keep pushing them away.”

And still—

In my spikey true old gold cage, I found an old friend nearby.

We stitched ourselves together

from broken parts,

and I forgot him

in fifteen days.

Only to realize:

I become him,

when I love.

My friend is a green hunter but a hunter's instunct is red and blinding. They say when human first saw fire, they ought to touch it. Curiousity blinded us, just like that. Maybe its the warmth that melts me in. Being close bent me every week. Maybe I care too much that i dont see myself burning. I kept running.

This man is a hunter. He blooms, and i had to cut myself and find a new oasis to breath.

When i saved myself out of the vase, he strated to pollinate, trying to reach for me as his confidence wilt.

They say it is better

when the man loves more.

For his love

fades faster with time.

But girls never learns

to measure herself—

My love-

it spills,

it sticks,

it stays.

But I never shy from leaving, because my cuts are bleeding. I cant risk more.

He is my mirror, but without scratch. I broke him and he smashed into something new.

But when i got to this new world, he rise back like a bear out of hibernation:

in passing cars,

on my street,

inside the library,

in the habits I keep.

The day he left,

I was glad for him.

I saw her happiness

overflow.

But he kept returning—

in small, stubborn ways.

And maybe,

he always will.

I become him when I love.

And I see my hunter is changing to keep up with me.

Everyday I have to face him, and myself.

I wear a bear skin to keep me warm.