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Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-

But I do  know how to tell a true love story -

Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,

True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -

In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.

and that’s what makes them “true.”

But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-

Love, is a constant state of illusionment-

A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be,  can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-  

A quid pro quo  between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-

Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-

Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-

Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-

So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -

A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe

So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-

I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”

I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of  utter normalcy

I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-

I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.

Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.





..And that is my true love story-
Edit: Thank you everyone. It has meant a lot.
I like to wear glitter                above and below my eyes          so that when he looks at me,     he sees nothing more than the promise of stars                 against the wishes                    of my dark skin.                        I'd like to be the                    black sky that he                      wishes               upon.
I'd like to the reason he sees any speckle of light. A selfish truth.
I watched him read
my little blurbs
no doubt seeing
whispers of his fingers
tracing its lines.

'it's not the
best thing
I've ever
written,'
I said.
He wasn't the best thing for me
 Mar 2014 pushthepulldoor
calion
a little girl, perhaps 5-6, sits in the meadow and picks flowers. she picks the flowers slowly, meticulously. she looks up and sees a beautiful teenaged girl, with a long flowing dress and short hair with splotches missing. the teenager sits with the little girl. "what happened to your hair?" the little one asks.

"once upon a time,
I picked flowers just like you.
but I picked them all."


the young girl listens and keeps picking her flowers.

"I met a boy who
promised I was beautiful
and made me feel so."


the teenager begin taking the flowers and winding them together. she grabs her knitting needles out of her handmade purse and continues working on a hat to keep her hands busy.

"he always told me
that my head was too pretty
for me to be sad."


"Did he love you?" the little girl asks, playing with her hands.

"perhaps he did, but
he never said that he did.
he never told me."


"after I ran out
of flowers, I began pull-
ing my long hair out."


"please don't end up like me." the teenager says, handing the girl the hat.
Sipping sweet
perception altering
juice
on cement stairs
feet bare
stranger down below
approached
honey lipped and
mellow
hour talk
between us two
took my hand
and
my bed
and my body
because we both
decided we wanted
to be
used
Daniel Magner 2014
It was almost as if,
My nightmares,
Had become more,
Than just,
Subconscious thought.

You ran along the uneven,
Cobbled, stone road,
Your mouth stretched open,
Sounding,
A silent scream.

My heart stopped,
As a Large metal object,
Labeled "49",
Propelled into the side,
Of your fragile torso.

Your bones bending,
And breaking,
Mind crushed by the drowsy,
Surprise,
Of a late night bus driver.  

I begged you to be careful,

You promised you would listen.


As the sirens wail,
Caressed the sleeping city,
Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks,
And stained,
My soggy pillow.

*I turned it over,

Then went back to sleep.
You text yourself snipets of thoughts/lines, and when you go back to retrieve them you notice the only person you've texted back all day was yourself.
I feel cheap.
Some people have
so few possessions but
so much more.

I feel like I have
too many possessions
yet so *little.
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