The 11th Hour

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This is an ode to those who left me for dead.

I am or was a typecast actor, living the lives of everyone before me;

A well worn path but the trees that bordered me let those occasional glimpses of something different and it looked;

Magenta and glittering, rays of sunlight and a faint echo of laughter. I could hear the ocean and suddenly;

The mountain before me looked so much bigger.

I am a beat in a script. The pause and the wait and you decided to discard me.

You didn’t listen either.

You left me for dead.

I wish the complexity of my heart was easy to understand, easy to accept and easy to communicate but I am stuck here this small child too afraid to go to bed and this adult shell is finally starting to break and crack and writhe and you wanted far too much like a cracked spine in a book you didn’t want to read after the first chapter.

Sorry.

(Stop saying sorry)

Ok.

I’m just trying. (And that’s the frustration of it all) (I’m just trying) (like that is meant to convey every loud noise in my heart and my head and my soul) (can’t you just look at me and understand?)

[michichans]

non-lip kisses are my absolute favorite. absentmindedly kissing the back of someone’s palm as you hold hands. chaste forehead kisses and brushes against their cheek. silly boops on the nose. kissing fluttering eyelashes. neck kisses that barely touch skin but are no less passionate. kisses on collar bones or exposed tummies. sloppy kisses at the corners of someone’s mouth. kissing each and every fingertip with a delicate touch.

[the11thhour]

Never shame a man for his tears.

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