the stars imploding in your eyes made me want to become an astronaut and the fire blazing in your heart made me a pyromaniac; it wasn’t just the light it embedded in your veins it was the way every expression burst out of you
your love of the sea made me want to become a boat driver so i could float through your seabed of flowers and plant a tree there that would eventually grow to surpass the sea every time you thought of me
your willingness to escape made me want to become a pilot, i’d fly you away from all the troubles burning holes in your skull and hope that the scar tissue that sealed them together again was because my fingertips had roamed your body and taught you how to be peaceful with an existence you barely understand
your breath shook my lungs like an earthquake and if there were traces of you in cigarettes i’d smoke them all
your body is a souvenir of the mountains you’ve climbed and the forests you’ve camped in and the coffee you drink at 7am every morning and your heart is a souvenir to remind you how not to be a robot although sometimes it feels easier that way and your mind is a souvenir of them both and i treasure the thoughts that never managed to surface on your lips because i know you tried your hardest and i know “i love you too” would’ve been one of them
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
the stars imploding in your eyes made me want to become an astronaut and the fire blazing in your heart made me a pyromaniac; it wasn’t just the light it embedded in your veins it was the way every expression burst out of you
your love of the sea made me want to become a boat driver so i could float through your seabed of flowers and plant a tree there that would eventually grow to surpass the sea every time you thought of me
your willingness to escape made me want to become a pilot, i’d fly you away from all the troubles burning holes in your skull and hope that the scar tissue that sealed them together again was because my fingertips had roamed your body and taught you how to be peaceful with an existence you barely understand
your breath shook my lungs like an earthquake and if there were traces of you in cigarettes i’d smoke them all
your body is a souvenir of the mountains you’ve climbed and the forests you’ve camped in and the coffee you drink at 7am every morning and your heart is a souvenir to remind you how not to be a robot although sometimes it feels easier that way and your mind is a souvenir of them both and i treasure the thoughts that never managed to surface on your lips because i know you tried your hardest and i know “i love you too” would’ve been one of them
