zay reverie

How tender, How vulnerable.

[zay-reverie]

i love you, i breathe a little easier around you.

When I warned you about my anxiety in the first few days we met,

‘It’s okay. I’ll be your medicine,’ you told me.

Did I mention the asthma then, or did you simply know?

[zay-reverie]

In my past, anger is the most recognizable memory.

In my mind, anger is a scribble,

it goes back and forth, back and forth again, on a fragile paper.

Demeaning,

Vicious.

I remember their faces, frowned and reddening. Their eyes, bewildered.

The sudden edge to their voice; an attempt to create a knife with the shape of their words.

Boy, it works.

It works too well.

Anger is a child’s depiction, the most recognizable drawing.

Sharp fangs and red ripping paper, they have pulled me apart.

[zay-reverie]

“Once a bullet is shot, and as your love leaks out of the barrel of a gun— I’ll wonder what place such soft powder has in such a cruel act.”

- Gunpowder.

[zay-reverie]

“Still, sometimes I look at him and it’s all I see.”

He in so many ways has become the one I wanted in my life all along.

[zay-reverie]

And so he eyed me up and down, affection melting his gaze. I waited for words to leave his mouth, waited—

“You look so well-loved,”he said.

I wondered what it meant.

[zay-reverie]

“You look like you were painted by the hands of my deepest desires.”

[zay-reverie]

“I would lick, I would trace with my tongue, to remember the shapes of your face— as if my taste was my last remaining sense.”

[zay-reverie]

Light overtakes our senses, and the weight of hardship floats away with it.

I urge to be vulnerable this time, again.

“You feel like you complete me.”

How I wish for you to allow the completion of oneself.

[zay-reverie]

In another life, I’d keep you as a stranger,

rather than a familiar.

When you became familiar,

I could see it in

the way you laughed, without thinking twice,

the way you stopped asking, tasted the fruit already,

the way you quit discovering, you knew me all.

the way your words fell shorter, everything has been said

…

But, in this life,

I would rather draw our portait anew than bore you.

[zay-reverie]

I realize one day, on a Saturday night, that I am not known - and words are mirrors, distorted by the shape you see me through.

And words are mirrors, distorted by the shape.

I am distorted, by the shape of my words.

My words are distorted by my shape.