Jun 2015
how simple is love, if you could just walk out the door, and have them fall into your arms
how simple is love, if you could long for company and have them racing to you like the pace of your heart
how simple is love, if you could just place your hands against their cheeks, so simple yet satisfying as when your tongue tastes the light of the sun
how simple is love, if you could have them within reach, like most material things so irrelevant and what are considered wants over needs
how simple is love, if you could have them close, too close by your sheets that they become the comfort and the air that you breathe
how simple is love, if you could wake up and have the presence of their weight felt, whether a phone call away or an inch
how simple is love, if i could simply have you here, whenever i need you the most for a kiss
how simple are all these things, and the love we view as bliss, like those we read in between pages and paragraphs, a crisscross of how two people meet
yet in between these pages and lines, are the stories and words that have yet to unfold
and i was not aware of what i had to hold before my eyes
i cannot feel you by the tips of my fingers, nor can i walk out the door to find myself welcome to your arms and kiss
i can only long for your company, praying that my heart will not leap out of my chest, because i know that no one will come racing to claim for the lifeless body, and i will be buried under, nailed and coffin closed, sadly like the rest
i cannot have you within reach, i can only surround myself with all of these temporary wants and in time, i know, i will no longer need
i will suffocate underneath these sheets, and your weight will not be felt because you are miles and miles apart, separated by sea, not an inch
and i cannot return back the love you need but i will continue to love you nonetheless, without growing tired and weary, no matter if i am even close to death, and to me, this is the simplest love can get
these are the stories and paragraphs that have yet to unfold
in between the lines are these words of a love we all view as bliss, a crisscross of how two people meet
and this was the only thing i had myself to prepare for
the story i grew up being told
n.j.
how simple is love, if you could long for company and have them racing to you like the pace of your heart
how simple is love, if you could just place your hands against their cheeks, so simple yet satisfying as when your tongue tastes the light of the sun
how simple is love, if you could have them within reach, like most material things so irrelevant and what are considered wants over needs
how simple is love, if you could have them close, too close by your sheets that they become the comfort and the air that you breathe
how simple is love, if you could wake up and have the presence of their weight felt, whether a phone call away or an inch
how simple is love, if i could simply have you here, whenever i need you the most for a kiss
how simple are all these things, and the love we view as bliss, like those we read in between pages and paragraphs, a crisscross of how two people meet
yet in between these pages and lines, are the stories and words that have yet to unfold
and i was not aware of what i had to hold before my eyes
i cannot feel you by the tips of my fingers, nor can i walk out the door to find myself welcome to your arms and kiss
i can only long for your company, praying that my heart will not leap out of my chest, because i know that no one will come racing to claim for the lifeless body, and i will be buried under, nailed and coffin closed, sadly like the rest
i cannot have you within reach, i can only surround myself with all of these temporary wants and in time, i know, i will no longer need
i will suffocate underneath these sheets, and your weight will not be felt because you are miles and miles apart, separated by sea, not an inch
and i cannot return back the love you need but i will continue to love you nonetheless, without growing tired and weary, no matter if i am even close to death, and to me, this is the simplest love can get
these are the stories and paragraphs that have yet to unfold
in between the lines are these words of a love we all view as bliss, a crisscross of how two people meet
and this was the only thing i had myself to prepare for
the story i grew up being told
n.j.
