If I was blind I could still see you.
If I had no mind, my thoughts will still think of you.
Without legs I will be chasing you all over town until my arms become dead.
No lips but I will still yearn for your kiss.
Picture me without a face, yet grinning everytime you open your arms for my embrace.
What if I had no hands? I will still hold onto my every plan, to be your perfect man.
One day I will be without a heart; however, loving you like I did from the start.

Love is like a book in many ways,
And you are the author.

There is a beginning which can be shaped in many ways.

A middle or present which is carried out based on the first chapter.

But whether or not there is an end is up to you.

If you write the rest of the book good enough,
Then the rest of it never has to stop.

If it's the perfect story,
It can be written in volumes.

Each letter spun together,
With the heartstrings of a desperate lover.

Every word written in care with tears,
From her heartbroken cheeks.

Every paragraph dripping,
With the eternal hope for the future.

Despite the low point of some chapters,
There will always be a turn of events for the better.

This creates a story that can go on for thousands of lifetimes,
Like that of the love, he holds in the highest esteem for her.

Love is like a book that never ends,
Only if it is true and pure.

~S.C. Kelley

recently
I got a little older,
learned a lesson or two,
like how loving someone
could never be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
like how nothing
would ever be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
how can I accept
that the miracle of love
isn’t really a miracle at all?
how can I wrap myself
in someone’s arms
when I know
that there isn’t any sort
of poetic loving involved?
how do I unlearn
the romantic thoughts
that taught me
about the fireworks,
the butterflies,
and the fluttering fingers
in the dark.
and accept that
maybe kissing
won’t be as spiritual as I thought.
maybe it’s really just a mouth on mine.
how do I unlearn my innocent heart
who lulled me into a false sense of hope
for a lover who would call
the way my body moves
art.
a lover who would feel
the poetry
in every word
I spoke in the dark.