Seeds always turn into flowers.

It's more like a seed of love, you said.

It's in me, you continued, but due to the slight separation, you can't plant it and let it grow within me.

I wish I could tell you it is already a flower though. 

I've been watering it daily with memories of your smile, and those little things you say that take my breath away.

We're cold, we say.

But the universe only opens up so many doors, and shuts them much too quickly.

I'd rather be cold with my favourite person, than warm with the wrong one.

I can't stand this. 

I'm overflowing into thousands of pools of emotion. My head and heart argue over you constantly, and I just sit back and watch in amazement. 

I can hold your gaze for much longer than any other.

Your smile manifests itself in the most beautiful ways, the crooked lines spreading widely across your face.

Those brilliant eyes focused in my direction, meeting mine in the parallel static, saying much more than I dare to with my own words.

I would do anything.

I want to tell you these things. I want to push my words into the dead air, and warm your thoughts with the truth.

It's such a risk.

I've lost the count on how many times I've told you I'm scared, I've lost count with how many times you said you love me as steadfast as an anchor on the ocean floor. 

I keep asking, and you keep answering, insisting you'll wait, and it's all depending on what I want.

Feeling this comfortable is surreal, and not being able to spread my webs of deception with you is frustrating.

I just want to feel our perfectly fitting bodies together again. I want to touch your fingers and draw the way your eyes get lost in the distance, setting your mouth into a straight line.

Stealing Stars

It's funny how impossibly hard it is to gauge the amount of emotions that seem to continuously flood my head. 

My heart.

My soul.

I want to ask you to reveal yourself in the most physical form.

I want to run fingers through the hair, that I'm sure glistens like gold in sunlight.

I want to replicate your jeweled eyes on thick paper, sucking the ink in itself, absorbing your colours.

Close enough to touch, far enough to break a heart.

I can't help but spit out truthful bits as you observe, laying out facts as if they bear no repercussions.

No consequences.

Wrong, yes.

Right, undoubtedly.

Exciting, very much so.

I'm sure you understand the things I still hold inside.

They're bursting out, in tears, in shudders, and sighs.

In infinitely rising suns, and disappearing moons, the thoughts of you always surround me.

As the thunder grumbles, and the whole world sleeps, I slip into a physical unconsciousness. 

I watch the lightning flash across my skin, stretched over joints awkwardly placed together. 

I imagine how those green eyes would light up in purple electrical flashes of ubiquitous roars. 

I'm reaching for shooting stars.