the perfect ideal body image is no where near what I look like. I haven’t really met any guy yet who has referred to my body as beautiful, and you know that’s ok. even though dimples run around my thighs, even though I am marked with lines of strain and streams of growth, it’s ok. I am trying to convince myself that this body I am living in is a beautiful temple; one not to be hated or tortured. a temple to be carefully treated with love and grace. I am trying to convince myself that maybe he fell for what stood out the most. not my body or my outer skin of health, but me, myself, and I. what I stand for, who I care for, how I speak and approach, the way I laugh at a pointless joke that was told an hour before, how I choose pineapples over peaches, or maybe even how I choose simple small talk over a high energy activity. maybe to someone, my body is just perfect, because the other components mean so much more than what is bluntly visible.

                         (j.a.r.)

You were, you are, you always will be my chimerical vision.
For a while, I had always thought things should be tacenda, but then I realized how stupid of a thought that was. I mean you came into my life and became my dépayśe. I was completely taken out of my comfort zone and put in some place unknown; some place near you, yet so far away. I have this wish where you and I find the light together, but I think I  always knew it was a velleity. You're so soigné, and I'm just homely. When I close my eyes, I picture that first mamilapinatapai and wonder why I couldn't have just spoken up. I've become a mad man over this serendipity which lasted a short time only to last forever. It was just a halcyon, those few moments we awed over, and I was just to sick with evasion to ever light a spark. Now, all I can do it drown in this chimerical vision alone.

                                                         (j.a.r.)