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The physical symptoms are unmistakable. The tightening of the chest. The quickness of breath. The mental longing that doesn’t go away, that doesn’t falter or get distracted. This is what love is at the very surface, but man is it hard to control. It’s as if everything else in the universe suddenly took a plunge in stock value and the only thing worth investing any amount of time in was that person. I don’t know who it might be for you. For me, it’s a girl. For me, it’s someone I’d like to spend the rest of my days with, the rest of time with if possible. It is someone I would die for, and more importantly, someone I would live for. Sue me. Martyr me for the cheesiness I’m spewing. That doesn’t matter. Literally nothing else does. It means something, it means I’m human. Above the hopeless expanse of responsibilities and tasks exists still a space in my soul for someone else. Well, to lose that is to be human, too, I guess.
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Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
Hopeless Love
The physical symptoms are unmistakable. The tightening of the chest. The quickness of breath. The mental longing that doesn’t go away, that doesn’t falter or get distracted. This is what love is at the very surface, but man is it hard to control. It’s as if everything else in the universe suddenly took a plunge in stock value and the only thing worth investing any amount of time in was that person. I don’t know who it might be for you. For me, it’s a girl. For me, it’s someone I’d like to spend the rest of my days with, the rest of time with if possible. It is someone I would die for, and more importantly, someone I would live for. Sue me. Martyr me for the cheesiness I’m spewing. That doesn’t matter. Literally nothing else does. It means something, it means I’m human. Above the hopeless expanse of responsibilities and tasks exists still a space in my soul for someone else. Well, to lose that is to be human, too, I guess.
I'm taking a break from poems
Written by
23/M/Atlanta
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
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