Let Go

Your name plays like orchestral symphonies in my head. 

Sweeping symbols crash as your smile crescendos in my memory.

Your long missed laughter sinking into my mind, recalling late night phone talks.

I can hear the piano keys mashing out sentences you've spelled out for me many a time.

You flow beautifully across my thoughts, only faltering within your own confidence.

You apologize for things that are purely my fault, and promise a non-wavering appreciation. 

I want to rescue you from myself, but sometimes I'm not quite sure who myself even would be. 

So this is love..

The way your large hands produce charcoal lines sweeping into human forms entices me. The way you laugh at my suggestions of infinite loneliness, and ask, are we not already married? It makes me stare into clouds for far too long while others talk to me about things that really do not matter. The same way I would say yes if you asked me in person. The same way I'm scared to be with you because I'm not good enough, but you say "I found you attractive years ago." and ask why, in truths name, will I not move into that city with you? I wonder if you really do, or you just feel bad because I let you lean on me. I tell you every few months I tried forgetting you. But it gets worse, I guess I shouldn't try anymore, as my mind will never let you go. You appear in my dreams every night, and I wake up disappointed because I can not see your face, and hear your voice, and see that dark messy hair bunched between your long fingers in deep thought.

You get mad when I forget things, but I could never, in a thousand lifetimes, forget you, my dear.

It Still Feels Like Yesterday

We wouldn't pour these words from our fingers if we did not expect, one day, perhaps after our bodies have left the Earth, that someone, somewhere, will read all these sentences. But I still write letters to no one, and I still say things to the pages of my sketchbooks that I wish so badly I could speak to you, my dear, out loud. I put them in brilliant colours, in between charcoal butterfly wings, and disproportionate skeletons. I drown out these sounds of reality with soft guitar strumming and deep voices, climaxing into heartfelt and shrill cries. Songs about tree lines, and endless horizons on the sea. I once read somewhere that we enjoy music as a species, and dance when we are happy, but understand the lyrics when we are sad. But when ever I start paying attention to song lyrics, I tend to become slightly sad in an existentially nostalgic sense no matter what my mood. 

I once asked you why it is so hard to speak the truth, and you replied with a pause, and then an offering of an explanation along the lines of us not wanting to hurt our loved ones. But that's one of dying people's biggest regrets, putting others, if not all of their loved ones, before themselves. All because of love.

I want to talk to you so bad. But it's not the same anymore. You're not the same anymore, and neither am I. You always say I've changed, but I don't understand why that would upset you. Is a relationship between two humans nothing but the changing of seasons and selves, whilst growing in life with another being? 

Please.

"Hey, how you doing" he repeated to himself.

"Please don't judge me, I already feel fucking retarded." he sighed heavily whilst he looked at time then turned away asking, "How you doing?"

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.

I thought I made you up inside my head...

You were in my dreams before I even realized it.
It all makes sense now.
What to do.