As long as people see themselves in art, metaphors will always be the best place to hide truth.
Because I will rather say “two fireflies that fall in love in the belly of a dragon might just stand a chance in hell” than explain that the tough times make us stronger.
But maybe fireflies don’t fall in love, maybe you and I are two wet wind-shield wipers that love playing chase in the rain but never do touch.
We shouldn’t have tossed our hearts around, gravity always finds a way to win, whether it be falling in love or breaking hearts.
There’s an anchor of cobwebs and strings that should never have been attached, but the deep of my voice would always be a resting place for your worries. Even when life puts shorelines and new loves between us, I’ll always have a metaphor that carries you in its arms. I would always have pennys for your thoughts and paper cups with holes made for old strings.
As long as people see themselves in art, metaphors will always be the best place to hide truth.
Because I will rather say that patience is a key to a door I haven’t found yet, than explain that most times I don’t know what I’m waiting for.
But maybe the fear of the unknown makes pacifists out of activists and poets out of lovers.
If words could make you sweat as much as they make you cry, the world would be a better place.