*Fragments of moments
That can never fuse into
Wholesome experience
Are what remains
When you depart
With the light on your back
Leaving
Shards of luminescence
Splattered
In your wake
I remain
Bound
In the wastelands
Of attachment
Perpetually
Chasing your ghost
Until I become one.*
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
i love you. i do, i really do. and i’m sorry if it freaks you out sometimes, but these feelings are so overwhelmingly strong that it shakes my whole system even after 2 am. i dream of you constantly and it horrifies me because they seem so real — as if i could still feel it, taste it, remember it like it happened yesterday.
i love you, and it’s scary to think that your words can break me anytime, any moment. i am vulnerable to you, and i think it’s both beautiful and sad how i easily & effortlessly gave it all up just so i could be with you. there’s just something — God knows what — that made me want to be with you even though i’m aware that you’re galaxies away from me.
i love you, and i love how i feel beautiful when you say that you are in love with me too. God, you are my favorite. i must admit that i have kissed & loved enough boys to know what brokenness truly feels like, but you mended me just like i’m something familiar, something you’ve been fixing your entire life. it’s a sick, mad world we’re living in, but you make it seem less agonizing whenever i hear you say those three words at 3 am, 4 pm, or 11 pm.
i’m in love with you, and it’s more intoxicating than the cigarettes and the alcohol i’ve taken in my whole life combined, and i don’t even want to be sober. you are the high even without the drug. you are the euphoria even without the ******* (beautiful) fireworks. you are the emotion even without the words.
i love you, and it’s okay if you can’t put it into words — how you feel — because even the silence i spend with you is enough to give me butterflies in my empty stomach. i don’t know what time it is, but it’s past midnight, and i’m still writing about you. i am a mess for and because of you, and my handwriting is proof. you shake my system even when you’re not there, and my dear, this is rare.
i love you dearly, with all honestly, and with all faithfulness. and i can’t help but think about you, every **** day. you’re both my drug and my antidote. my poem. my sunlight, my stars. my soul.
and i hope you love me too, as much as i love you.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
She's the kind of girl.
Yes.
She's the kind of girl who could make your heart stop beating like a
bullet.
But could bring you back faster that your emergency room defibrillator.
She's the kind of girl who conducts the orchestra of hurricanes in your heart with just a glance from across a flooded room.
She's the kind of girl who makes use of your telescope eyes
to show you what your love will be
but can pull a shutter down too,
but only to save you.
The kind of girl who lights fires to keep you warm and not
to burn you down.
The kind of girl who holds you close without a dagger up her sleeve.
The kind of girl who holds you close whilst being an ocean away.
The kind of girl who would rip away your flesh and blood
to prove that you're more than what you're made of.
The kind of girl a failed skipping stone would fall into.
The kind of girl who holds you strong whilst being beaten down onto her own knees.
The kind of girl who lets her heart speak instead of her mouth.
The kind of girl whose eyes have experienced a more austere flood than you ever will.
The kind of girl who would take Cupid's mismatched arrow for you.
The kind of girl who would hold you still whilst an earthquake tears you from what you thought you knew and felt.
The kind of girl who breaks the mirrors which have held you captive for years.
The kind of girl who bites her fingernails, so nobody can remain underneath.
The kind of girl who believes that the heart is made for more than to pump blood.
The kind of girl who knows your lungs could never survive the flood.
The kind of girl who brings even the world to a halt.
The kind of girl who shouts from the sun to the moon,
and from the moon to the sun,
not because she understands,
but because she yearns for their love.
The kind of girl who possess wildfire hands.
The kind of girl you'd let burn you down.
The kind of girl.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC