coffee breath,
9:42,
violet pigment under eyes,
tiresome sighs.
three hours and forty- one minutes of sleep,
my mind says no,no,no,no
my eyes are heavy
and so is my mood

heart sunken deep as eye bags
wondering if you actually care.
those blue-green eyes,
are they analyzing my feelings,
or algebra?

i just want you to feel the same way,
which is a way i have never felt before

mushy, gushy, stupid poems,
hopeless, delicate Juliet searching for Romeo in her peripherals

little Juliet, wake up, wake up,
go be the lioness you're accustomed to be

Ants on my windowsill
Electric vibrations of music playing
Sounds of motors outside
The feel of blood flowing through my legs

I feel everything more beautifully
It's only been less than a week
But flowers have started growing in dark places
And all that I can think about is you you you

I started using blue ink more often
because it reminded me of your eyes
which quickly became my favorite in school
along with your constellations of freckles
which adorn your joyful looking face

I wake up at 5:35 happy because i'll get to hear your voice at 9:32
for now i'll stare at blue ink and think of you.

when you think that there's no one else left for you in the world,
do not dare to give up.
remember you live in a small town,
and out of that small sleepy town,
you may know merely one-fifth of the population.
one day he or she will appear in the most unexpected place.
and you will find beautiful people you would have never imagined or fathomed,
you'll be so amazed because you never thought someone like that actually existed near you.

one day you'll look up and then distract yourself so they won't see your jaw drop in the presence of them,
and you'll stare so frequently, but you'll strive to look further than their physical appearance, because you've never seen someone as beautiful before.
you'll search and find that despite their beauty they are a person just like you.
your heart races when you exchange looks
and you find the most intricate details of them alluring
but then just like that,
the masterpiece of a stranger has to leave,
but he lives on in my mind for hours,
and lives in these words forever.

knowing there are so many beautiful people out there waiting to be met is what keeps me going.
I want to know them all.
I hope one day I will be someones beautiful stranger

The moment you notcied me was something of a dream,
something I would never expect,
becasue I was a mere moth in a garden of iridescent butterflies.

You woke me up at 6am on a summer morning, my oh my,
what a miracle, you worked a wonder,
you left your number,
so I left mine, and the dream froze.

Now I've been awake,
(the kind of awake where you have to stick toothpicks in your eyes to pry them open)
searching for signs of you everywhere.

The thing I want most is for that little blue light to appear so I know that we're both constantly pathetically thinking about each other.
I'm to shy to talk to you first,
and maybe you're sitting there too,
staring for the light on your phone,
like gatsby staring at the green light,
debating if its way to soon to text.

Please do, I don't want to be gatsby, staring for the light,
I want to have the privilege of seeing the light often
don't be afraid.

*12:21 the light hasn't appeared. Please think of me

He saw himself in her eyes suspended in two shining drops of bright water, everything was there as if her eyes were two miraculous bit of violet amber that might capture and hold him in tact.
Her face, fragile milk crystal with a soft constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity, but the strangely comfortable and gently flattering light of a candle.

For how many people did you know who refracted you own light to you? People were often blazing away until they whiffed out.
How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your innermost trembling thought?

Autumn leaves blew over the moonlit pavements in such a way as to make the girl who was moving there seem fixed to a sliding sidewalk, letting the motion of the wind and leaves carry her forward.
Her shoes stirred the circling leaves.
Her face slender and milk-white, and in it was a kind of gentle hunger that touched over everything with tireless curiosity.
Pale surprise with dark eyes that were so fixed to the world that no move could escape. Her dress was white and it whispered.He almost thought he heard the motion of her hands. Eyes so dark and shiny and alive that he felt as if he had said something wonderful.
They walked in the warm-cool blowing night on the silvered pavement and there was the faintest breath of fresh apricots and strawberries in the air. her face as bright as snow in the moonlight.
"I like to smell things and look at things, and sometimes stay up all night, walking, and watching the sunrise."
He saw himself in her eyes suspended in two shining drops of bright water, everything was there as if her eyes were two miraculous bit of violet amber that might capture and hold him in tact. Her face, fragile milk crystal with a soft constant light in it. It was not the hysterical light of electricity, but the strangely comfortable and gently flattering light of a candle.
For how many people did you know who refracted you own light to you? People were often blazing away until they whiffed out. How rarely did other people's faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your innermost trembling thought?

*"Are you happy?"