She praises my work
I under-articulate my writing
She loves my mind
I hate my brain
She stares into my eyes
I avoid them in the mirror
She runs her hand over my chest
I cross my arms over it
She kisses my lips
I let her
She tells me she loves me
I respond with my self-hatred
She loves my smile
I wish I didn't smile as much
She loves my hands
I am dissatisfied with all they do
She is an optimist by birth, beyond her control.
I am a pessimist by necessity, entirely by choice.
Rupi Kaur is so entirely correct.
I'm not sure if writing is healing me or destroying me either.
I get to say what I want, what I think.
But from this writing comes those sleepless nights
From this writing comes those silent screams in my brain
From this writing comes a roaring, a deep, deep set roaring
From this writing comes these bags under my eyes
From this writing comes so much of my effort, my brainpower, my time
From this writing comes her
From this writing comes thinking, which is to be alive
From this writing is maturity
From this writing is growth
And I'm not sure if this writing is creating me or destroying me.
There are times that we, as humans, forget that we are existing, we are living, that we are doing more than just converting oxygen into carbon dioxide and water vapor.
And it’s ironic, since we tend to forget this existence while we are existing.
We get so lost in our lives that we forget we are living.
My hands were on her waist
Hers were on my shoulders, gripping oh so gently, making me aware of her and the cold go away
She put her feet on mine, those small things wrapped in black fuzziness
The thought entered my brain, and I felt as light as air
I started twirling, making sure I had a firm grip on her so she wouldn’t fall
I smile spread across my face, heart soaring, stomach erupting into small flutters
An orchestra in my head played its slow tune, and I followed it
She laughed, said no, stuck her hand out to the side, mine followed hers and they intertwined
She grinned at me
Oh, I loved her there, I loved her so
I started twirling again, humming that little tune
My heart was fluttering, I was warm, warm with her love and her embrace
Hmmm hm hmmm hm hmmm hm hmm, bum da bum bum bum
Her head rested on my shoulder, nuzzling
“We need to do this at our wedding.”
Wedding? Our wedding? How perfect it sounds
“Take your heels off first.”
Yes, yes, our wedding.
She laughed, I smiled, and I loved her
I can see her there, in that field
She’s spread eagle, her beautiful, asymmetrical nose points straight up to the brilliant blue sky, a few wisps of white in it.
The clovers grow tall, reaching up to tickle the sides of her bare skin, the sides of her neck, her face, her arms, her legs, her cheeks, and a small smile spreads across her face in the feeling.
She’s happy, so indescribably happy, she feels nothing except that happiness fill her entire being, and she takes a deep breath through her nose and exhales slowly through her mouth.
And then her eyes open to a brown man, his eyes closed, and she knows he is in his own field of tall clovers and blue skies.
I stared at you in only small amounts, when you wouldn’t notice me.
I stared at you when you looked at her, laughed with her, and overall just didn't especially notice me, or my existence.
I stared at you when you were looking at anything else, and saw your change in emotion each time you looked at something different. Eyebrows rose and fell, cheeks changed in the shadows of your face when it tilted, eyes lit up and died down, the corners of your lips rose and fell so exquisitely I could feel my breath being stolen from my lungs, and when the tears rolled down from your eyes in a relentless tirade to the ground, I found myself awestruck at the woman who could laugh and sob in such a lovely way.
I stare at you for as long as I want, and when you notice me staring, you do one of four things.
Your eyebrows rise or contract in question
You smile at me so sweetly that I can hardly believe you’re smiling at me
You nuzzle your nose into my cheek, your eyes closed, which mine quickly follow
Your face lifts itself to mine, tilting slightly, and our lips meet in such a way that my mind is silent for that eternal second
I stare at you, and I notice you even more, and you notice me even more.
I stare at you in large amounts, when you usually tend to notice me.
But neither of us really care when you catch me.