why do bad things happen to
those who strive
hardest for the
best things.

it is much harder to
earn the good benefits in life
than it is to
receive the
terrible gifts.

our weeks and weekends were full of light,
your dashing smile and my
shining eyes.

painting our life ahead,
with vivid blues and yellows.

i knew things were going so well,
everything picture perfect,
so well framed on an art gallery
wall.

one dark and stormy night,
a couple of days after another journey
though the gallery,
you ripped the frame off.

your eyes were glasses full of hurt,
your smile slipped off your face,
no vibrancy was painted on you.

i still don't know why you took the painting down,
when so much dedication and time was
put into making art.

i am hurt.
my colours have faded.

the picture unexpectedly went from perfect,
to shreds.
i will never know why.

the artists of this once beautiful painting,
will never create another piece together.

why so distant loved one?
why so blank and astray?
i hear your suffering
ringing in my empty ears like
bells that once rung.

i hear your music of tears dripping,
as slow
steady beats onto your
clenched wrists and your
struggling sniffles almost
symphonic and
melodic.

only you can make your
pain look like the most
exquisite beauty and
create jaw
dropping harmony.

i miss you.

my insanity is my
best friend.

with her hand on my shoulder
she guides me through
the heavy curtains
of sanity
into the thrumming void
of insanity.

What sort of love is he? What sort of love does he have?

He’s a honey type of love. One that covers your brain and heart with sweetness, dripping in every little crack and exposed area that is available to be filled. Using its pure golden goodness to take you over and make you melt.

He’s that type of love that wraps you up when you need it. Soft to the touch, lingering on your skin. He bottles up his kisses and affection to show you just how much his love can be preserved, and used time and time again. It’s a medicine that is the most effective and will always guarantee being the cure to any type of sickness or sadness.

When he walks in the door every day after work, it’s as if the whole world around him goes slightly out of focus. He is the only thing in my vision that is in high definition.  Every part of him wants to steal my heart, right out of chest like the little mischief he is, just to hold it next to his big beautiful heart.

His love is the one that keeps me on my toes and bubbling with excitement, fizzing like pure sparkling water on a crisp summer day. Refreshing and authentic, yet it dates back to when our souls met eternities ago, where it is also filled with depth and memories like spring mountain water.

It’s a complex sort of love. Not a complicated one, but complex. One mixed with so much diversity and paths, meshed all into all sorts of branches of emotions. All interconnected with one another, touching and feeling anything and everything. Together.

He’s the warm bath I slide into after a long hard day at work. There to soothe and comfort me after a day of stress and worrisome thoughts. Helping to relax my mind and muscles simply with his radiating warmth.

His love is ecstasy. Our nights are filled with laughter where our stomachs are cramped with internal smiles and children's giggles. Our fingers are tingling with numbness and our noses are bright red after running in the cold summer evenings hand in hand.

He’s the type of love that is eternal. The one I have been searching for since I knew what love was. Arriving on my doorstep to scoop me up and take me away. He’s the love, I will love forever.