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.
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