please know that I love you more than the stars, the sun, and the skies could hold.

but I don't know how to fix something without damaging it the process.

you are fragile, and my hands have unintentionally fractured you countless times. I know this, even though you've never explicitly told me.

I dance on eggshells around you: I am atlas, pirouetting across an empire of thin ice, just so I don't mar you with my words.

swallowing conversations and feelings is a talent we both possess. to spare the pain of the other, we dampen the truth. we drink the fires of resentment and leave them to ferment.

I cannot fix this without potentially damaging it further.

I'm a storm with skin. my collateral damage knows no bounds, spares no mercy. you know this. but hear me, and heed me closely.

I don't paint you as the villain. you aren't the martyr. we are equally responsible for this damage and decay. the rot of something once beautiful.

yet I cannot fix something without causing further damage.

we are a two way street. growth of beauty cannot flourish in stagnation.

please, do not test the limits of my volatility. I cannot mend the tatters of thirteen years with a single spool of thread.

I refuse to swallow fermented resentment. I walk on eggshells carrying mountains for you no more.

this tapestry will end in one of two ways: opulent splendor, or devoured by living flames.

I cannot fix something without destroying it in the process.

I'm waiting for the words to flow down from my fingertips
To swirl and twirl and sound more magical than if it came from my lips.
Waiting for that mystical world of vivid hues
To grace my bland hands with its adventurous views.

Pen to paper, fingers to keys
Ideas and notions crashing like oceans and buzzing around like bees.
My thoughts entrance me
Leading my fingers to start dancing.
Rapidly writing and typing
Twisting and turning 'round stanzas and lines
Embracing the thoughts that are mine.

What is Truth
And what is it's use?
How to explain Love
And it's many notions of soaring above.
Laughing as i write little tricks and hints.
Words with many shades and tints.

The page turns golden
The swirls scramble, they never end
Words shining loud as can be
The true beauty of poetry.

What if you loved someone who was
Across oceans and seas
As far away as far can be.

Would you still be able to write them prose?
If you can’t touch their fingers or toes or nose?

If you had to describe yourself
To someone you’ve never met,
And may very well never meet,
Could you be honest about what you see?

Would you give an accurate description
Or end up writing a piece of fiction?

Would you send the photo of you dressed to your best?
Or the one after you’ve finished a difficult test?

Would you feel obligated to impress
Or figure that your worst is probably also your best.

Could you be honest with who you are?
Because they live so very very far?