you are a breath
of fresh exuberance,
but also of nihilism
and the way cold air tastes
how do i make you
begin to fall for me
in the way that i might
want you to
without seeming like i'm
pushing you to the edge
of what is safe versus
what is good?
is it wrong that i miss
the innocence of new love,
that i'm dreaming of the moments
i haven't felt in years,
or that the nausea
of my bones shaking through
my knees is a feeling which
i would worship to receive?
the idea of your presence is
more overwhelming than that
of your physicality, for when
time stops at least i can visualize
the idea of you.
it is more than the idea of you.
it is that dreamy trance of youth
near midnight, when the lights
overtake your reality and the music
drums in your ears and all
which is visible becomes all which
is love, it is love in its truest
and purest form. or even the late
night conversations dripping
with the beating of hearts and
the urgency of dramatics,
and although we know of its
purposelessness, we still try
to fix it for our own sakes.
it is the feeling of staying up
and out way too late, of road
trips, of the rips in the knees
of your favorite jeans, and the
way you readjust your hair when
you think nobody is looking.
you will never fall for me
in the way i might want you to,
but as long as i have your hand
to hold in this tempest of sorts
the metaphor will become reality
and it'll all be okay.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
you are a breath
of fresh exuberance,
but also of nihilism
and the way cold air tastes
how do i make you
begin to fall for me
in the way that i might
want you to
without seeming like i'm
pushing you to the edge
of what is safe versus
what is good?
is it wrong that i miss
the innocence of new love,
that i'm dreaming of the moments
i haven't felt in years,
or that the nausea
of my bones shaking through
my knees is a feeling which
i would worship to receive?
the idea of your presence is
more overwhelming than that
of your physicality, for when
time stops at least i can visualize
the idea of you.
it is more than the idea of you.
it is that dreamy trance of youth
near midnight, when the lights
overtake your reality and the music
drums in your ears and all
which is visible becomes all which
is love, it is love in its truest
and purest form. or even the late
night conversations dripping
with the beating of hearts and
the urgency of dramatics,
and although we know of its
purposelessness, we still try
to fix it for our own sakes.
it is the feeling of staying up
and out way too late, of road
trips, of the rips in the knees
of your favorite jeans, and the
way you readjust your hair when
you think nobody is looking.
you will never fall for me
in the way i might want you to,
but as long as i have your hand
to hold in this tempest of sorts
the metaphor will become reality
and it'll all be okay.
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