#artandlove
Drawing so many lessons from her learning curves — she’s the type
to bend my whole mind, folding me inward until I run in circles just
to reach the state of her heart. I pin a flag in this feeling, praying she
won’t mistake me for a red flag; the only red on me are the blushing
cheeks she’ll never see — too dark for that shade to rise to the surface.
If my cheeks could talk with a resonating voice, they’d confess
everything I hide: that I’m already imagining her as my future wife.
You could have choked me with how fast my words disappear —
walking up to speak, and… __snap__ — they fall apart again. The
wind screams through electric branches, and my thoughts keep
branching off too, never wanting to leave the place where she lives
inside my mind.
Her gaze squeezes my small, stubborn heart like she knows exactly
who I am — the lonely poet who pretends solitude is a choice, but
breaks open whenever inspiration touches him. And God, it feels
coy to admit it… but inspiration was you this whole time.
I’m drawing the words I wish I could say to you — but I’m such
a terrible artist. All I make are stick figures, _stick hopes, stick
dreams…_ just trying to stick close to you.
Because the truth is… I learned to draw poetry just to trace the
outline of you.
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 3:55 PM UTC