Light-skinned queen, a cutie. Easy to talk to and outgoing. She makes me so happy. The only thing is, she has a boyfriend. Jasmine was one of my first loves, she's so amazing. I wish she had my heart, she gives me hope that one day I'd love again. I mean she's amazing. From her amazing attributes straight to her flaws. I tend not to care about flaws, you're the most beautiful girl in the world to me. I love you so much, deep inside I get a warm feeling when thinking about you. You'll be the best thing that ever happened to me. I just hope that one day we'll be together.

Love is defined as a feeling of warm personal attachment or affection.
Personally, that definition pales in comparison to how I feel when I look into those capturing circles of chocolate.
How I feel when I look at that beautiful smile that sets my heart, mind, and body ablaze.
No, because I feel...
I feel a range of emotions from this interpersonal connection to this deep entanglement.
These feelings race through my heart, out both ventricles, through my arteries to deposit this tingling sensation
throughout my body like a thousand fiery red ants scrambling up and down my interior.
Is that how love feels?
Is that simply just a feeling of personal attachment?

Emotions flood my body and even deep beneath my rib cage, past those guarded brick walls..
These emotions intensify and I begin to feel this 'love' again.
That's the art of love.
Knowing that one day flowers can begin to grow in the darkest parts of you,
knowing that rare ripples exist in this world that have the ability to create waves of radiance amidst gloomy waters.
knowing that through the vehement sour thoughts of another being wrapped around you, I can still feel an interpersonal connection.

You are the one thing that means absolutely anything,
everything.
I will run my fingers over every part of you, searching for the slightest crack and pour my love into each crevice of your shattered heart.
I will love you recklessly (again),
again, I'll risk loving you wholeheartedly.
Is that the art of love?
The beauty of infatuation?

The allure of love is the desire to keep the memories tattooed to our brains,
the desire to stitch ourselves together, even faster than we're tearing apart.
It's not just a feeling of mere warmth.
The art of love is knowing that when he leaves, the flowers will be plucked as well; knowing that this can happen and still refusing to let that stop you
from pouring love into all disparate crevices despite the possibility of having a barren garden next week.
It is choosing to knit us together when we appear to be crumbling at each seam.
The beauty within love is the ability to incessantly feel even when it becomes too much.
The art of love is the ability to love when even living becomes a difficulty.

-jjss-

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

I'd rather be happy than right
so whisper my love,
empty sweet nothings
If only just for tonight

Our love isn't like poetry,
There aren't stars in your eyes,
I've been blinded by lies,

Our love doesn't make me feel alive,
The way poets paint love to be,

Our love isn't like poetry
As a matter of fact
You're dead to me.

I could write a million poems to you
but it would never be enough

Everything I have to say to you
is too much to ever put in words
I keep telling myself
you will fade out
I will forget about you
you won't matter anymore
I will cease to love you

But I don't think it works that way
all these years
even when we didn't talk
the ember in my heart stayed hot
just saying hi to you can bring it to a full blaze
and light my heart on fire once again

I don't believe there will ever not be a spot for you in my heart
the fire will never completely go out