The smoke dissolves in my lungs. A constellation of bright stars forms in the depths of your eyes, weaving a language of orchestral, luminous memories—one that cannot fathom the endless possibilities of your devotion.
Maybe if I write these words and keep them inside my dismantled heart, love will come to find me. Maybe in a thousand abysses that grieve love, the heavens and the earth will entwine their fresh waters and frozen tears; faint sheets of light will envelop my already soul-weary skin and thus will seep in like a sun gently fleeting its warm light into the night sky, sojourning in the consoling darkness until dawn.
And if I tell you, that I have so much love to give, would you grow thorns and leave me in the cold, barren night like a stray dog, or would you come running across the ends of the earth—tiptoeing in bedazzling stars and soft sands, rushing into me?
I’ve been productive for the past few weeks, and I don’t understand why there’s still room for me to long for something that I can’t have just yet. I’ve been spending my time writing in my journal for all the times that I feel like I’m yearning for something more than love. Something more than comfort, and I hate to admit this, but I’ve become a prisoner of fantasy, I long for my own fairy tale. That my own heart chokes me.
Sparks - Coldplay