the face behind the door is hers and i now what it feels like to witness daylight breaking into an abandoned house. for a moment, she makes me acknowledge the days in the darkness, those dog days that gnawed away at my insides; new forms of symbiosis upchucking scars and scarlet. for a moment i want to nurse my open wounds, lick them tenderly and have the tips of her hair delicately brush my forehead; cooing words and a cool hand against my flushed cheeks. i don't know how to respond to loss other than surrendering more of myself.
I notice the way lovers linger at each other for two seconds longer and how you mumble along to that tune escaping from your right earbud. The gallery cafe holds artists in a room full of art and I feel as if I'm interrupting something special here. I'd frozen that expression portrayed by his features- glowing when she'd waltzed in; tucked it into my bursting pocket as another stolen moment and I think love is a funny thing. Untouched yet experienced and I wonder why he had eyes for her and how long they'd last or how he'd chosen that particular song; lyrics involuntarily memorized for what other reason than fondness; or how after knowing someone for longer than your memory can recall that the creases in their index finger is as familiar as the back of your hand; so can all these emotions overflowing with serotonin and caffeine, dopamine and adrenaline be classified as love? I think it can.
numbers don't define you they scream stitching price tags on my limbs like what I have to offer is paper based? so tell me really, how much does a soul cost? telling me not to worry; do what you do best but what if cold sweating is the only thing I'm good at- escaping whatever fire you passed down from centuries ago only to do it all again.
// the elephant in the room isn't me //
throw those numbers in the fire; watch them burn, watch them burn
I'd never have to understand that we were born into equal sized roadways- another unwritten rule suspended in the air amongst the somewhat unnecessary details we'd 'forgotten' to mention over the past few years. But that was okay right? I mean you'd found your direction and accelerated ahead of me; thinking you'd see the world differently from there? Sure, your perspective involved hues that I was blind to but I'd found this gem within the shadows of all these cars (Shh! Don't let them know you're catching up! This highway was ruled by colours, not words.) redyellowgreenredyellowgreen You just couldn't stay within your own lane- oblivion muddled with reality blurred my blindspot so I advise you to swerve out of my way unless you want to get hit (accidentally on purpose.) - You'd always remark that I could handle the wheel, ever so sweetly, but this is what you implied? - I knew it was all too much, trying to balance everything (Shh! My plate was too full, each nutriment colliding with another- the chocolate syrup painted ice cream enveloped half my dish, intruding the space against her wish.) You always seemed to have the cleanest looking plate, however you continuously allowed me to spill over onto the rim of your pristine porcelain, as if you enjoyed watching me overflow, explode. You never did anything about it, never cleaned the dishes, simply watching as various delicacies drew fantasies right in front of you. Though those weren't even close to my fantasies. You dream of candy floss nests and gumdrop buttons whereas I dream of freshly cut watermelons and berries (please do the dishes or leave.)
// riding shotgun was the sweetest thing you said we'd done right before I floored the brake and more than sugar went flying out the window. //
Always calling me sweet as if my name somehow tastes pleasant when you attempt to form sentences powdered with more saccharine than me? Listen up honey, you're well aware of the outcome of this prolonged sugar so swallow your treacle words (unless toothaches are your thing.)