Jun 2014
It's torturous. It's pain.
It's the best and worst thing you've ever felt at the same time. Sometimes they separate and it's one or the other. It stings. Your callouses fall from your fingers the way I imagine hunted birds do from trees. It's being vulnerable and letting that other person know. Telling them they could destroy you if they chose to. Trusting that they won't. It's pure, unadulterated trust. It's being restless without them. It's cramming your hands in your pockets when they're gone because you don't know what to do without them anymore. Your extremities are foreign and new when without theirs. They no longer belong to you or to anything they do.
Each movement scatters the shrapnel of their words as you implode.
It's sacrifice. It's worth it. It's waking up at 2:30am reaching for them in your bed, whether they're there or not. It's sleeping more soundly with them than when you're alone. It's laughter. It's wanting to kiss the deepest crevices of their mind and blow the dust from the places you've only seen second hand. The black parts. The parts that haven't been without a shadow for days. It's wanting to memorize the feeling of their fingertips against your skin; to trace their fingerprints onto your lips in hopes that when speaking their name it will be yours again.
It's beautiful. It's hideous.
It rears its ugly head and charges at you, and you trust it not to hurt when you're sent flying backward. It's finding them in everything. It's having fun when you're lost in the rain and having the worst day. It's watching them reading, and feeling them take hold of you while only using their hands to turn a page. It's wanting to hold them so tightly to set all of their broken bones and maybe a few will fuse to yours. You crave nothing more than to be their surgeon. Their vaccination. The one to prevent what's to come and fix what is already done. It's knowing you would give anything for one more day of it. Just one more anything.
Love is being scared shitless and still not pulling the cord, because you trust them to catch you when your parachute fails to open.
If you fail to open, your parachute will follow suit.
I promise you.
(b.r.o.)
It's the best and worst thing you've ever felt at the same time. Sometimes they separate and it's one or the other. It stings. Your callouses fall from your fingers the way I imagine hunted birds do from trees. It's being vulnerable and letting that other person know. Telling them they could destroy you if they chose to. Trusting that they won't. It's pure, unadulterated trust. It's being restless without them. It's cramming your hands in your pockets when they're gone because you don't know what to do without them anymore. Your extremities are foreign and new when without theirs. They no longer belong to you or to anything they do.
Each movement scatters the shrapnel of their words as you implode.
It's sacrifice. It's worth it. It's waking up at 2:30am reaching for them in your bed, whether they're there or not. It's sleeping more soundly with them than when you're alone. It's laughter. It's wanting to kiss the deepest crevices of their mind and blow the dust from the places you've only seen second hand. The black parts. The parts that haven't been without a shadow for days. It's wanting to memorize the feeling of their fingertips against your skin; to trace their fingerprints onto your lips in hopes that when speaking their name it will be yours again.
It's beautiful. It's hideous.
It rears its ugly head and charges at you, and you trust it not to hurt when you're sent flying backward. It's finding them in everything. It's having fun when you're lost in the rain and having the worst day. It's watching them reading, and feeling them take hold of you while only using their hands to turn a page. It's wanting to hold them so tightly to set all of their broken bones and maybe a few will fuse to yours. You crave nothing more than to be their surgeon. Their vaccination. The one to prevent what's to come and fix what is already done. It's knowing you would give anything for one more day of it. Just one more anything.
Love is being scared shitless and still not pulling the cord, because you trust them to catch you when your parachute fails to open.
If you fail to open, your parachute will follow suit.
I promise you.
(b.r.o.)
(Philadelphia)
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