"mindlessly" poems
Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-
But I do know how to tell a true love story -
Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,
True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -
In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.
and that’s what makes them “true.”
But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-
Love, is a constant state of illusionment-
A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be, can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-
A quid pro quo between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-
Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-
Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-
Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-
So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -
A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe
So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-
I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”
I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of utter normalcy
I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-
I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.
Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.
..And that is my true love story-
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
Greedy CEO's,
mindlessly hoarding money,
as the poor suffer.
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 10:55 PM UTC
Sleeplessness
Brought to you by sparkling espresso in a can
I have underestimated you yet again, oh humble coffee bean
But back to work
Eight tabs open, going back and forth
It's nothing short of a miracle if any given task is given more than a minute of attention at a time
Muscle spasms, trembling, fascinating
Overwhelming urge to mindlessly flex the muscles I don't have
Fake machissimo brought about by exhauation?
Or the exhileration of having to complete 8 projects in a day
While simultaneously trying to grasp a breaking down of my mind which hasn't happened since...forever
Hmm
These are the prime conditions to breed a taxing marathon of productivity
Or a chain of costly impulsive decisions to perpetuate procrastination.
Signs that someone is going crazy range from ****** to inability to stick to a single topic to excessive use of run on sentences
"How meta, acknowledging your insanity deconstructs the very notion of it if you normalize it within yourself and just look as everyone else as crazy! Ha.ha."
That made no sense, i don't think.
I like using big words to make myself sound smart you can make anyone believe anything if you use big words also it scares those
Hippopotomonstroesquipedaliophobixlcs
Grumble grumble
Good night/morning/whatever
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
Being homesick isn't about being away from home. It's being at home yet still feeling so empty and confused. Because what is home? Home is warmth and love.
You could be at home, yet still feel like everything is crashing down. You could be away from home, and feel like you're having the time of your life. You could be lying on your couch, idly watching everything and everyone as they pass by. Mindlessly active, totally passive.
Or maybe you're just homesick.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
Life’s moments and happenings are like little thieves
They don’t want any money
They still take it
Putting salt on cracked lips, stealing the warmth of a heart
Sobs resonate in lonely halls
Everything reeks
Of lifeless dust
Even darkness can’t fight them off
Or push away the pain
The cold, swift figures taste like hatred
Longtime friend with the soul of a sister
Offers a consoling embrace
It bleeds good feelings
Now they want our money
Thieves aren’t fair, nor logical
No rhyme
No reason
Life’s a poorly written song
Bad music *****
The bold melody clashes
With its vague accompaniment
We didn’t want them so we welcomed them
‘There must be some way out of here’
Said the joker to the thief
I don’t think there is any way out
The precious tokens of life should be protected
By an army of mindlessly trained children
Who fall in love with the thieves
Whose forgiving minds omit the fear
Thieves call us easy
We are forever sobbing
Cries heard only by past selves and invisible belongings
When we prove we are great
And pass impassable tests
Everything will return
We aren’t capable of such feats
Our memories sing us haunting songs
We cry out with our salty lips
And empty hearts
Robbed of any motivation
Robbed of any care
Robbed of love
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 8:41 PM UTC
If i was her lover
I would have *poetic *** in the ocean
reciting poetry to her
while I **** her
mindlessly
If i was her lover
She would be the mermaid of the ocean
Whom I am jealous to touch
and while I am here wading
wanting to make sweet love with its bride
If only I was her lover
I would whisper passions in her ear
like waves whispering on the shores
of her children
The water of the sea, he chokes me
surrounds me
but i am having *poetic *** in the sea
with she
and i say to her, my lover
"i met a mermaid out in the sea
she came to me and *poetic *** she needs
i grabbed her heart
and laid inside her
see i'm still a man who wants pleasure
and poetry together
i'm jealous of her lover
yet i'm having *poetic *** with her
in the ocean"
My love moans
groans
let's me own
her majestic bones
and her ravaged soul
is radiating
with every ******
beckoning passion
in this historic sensation
so intense
so loud
so real and unreal
and in her throes i hear
water logging in my ear
this moment here
of me ******* my lover
in the sea
i guess that's why they call it
******* poetry.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
The man behind the ****
He's evil I tell ya
He will have you wrapped around his hideous fingers after the first hit
He will drain your bank account
Your beauty and common sense
Then you'll be walking around mindlessly under his spell
He will whisper things to you
Telling you you're fine
In reality
You're ****** up and ****** up.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
looking back, i’ve realized
that in the moment
i tend to be anxious and impatient
and i don’t trust
that everything will work itself out
and i ache to know
exactly what is waiting for me
around the corner
will i alter my circumstances
or will my circumstances alter me?
i mindlessly allow myself to become faithless
and although i’ve overcome so many obstacles,
my eyes become fixated on the present
and i forget to take a step back
and reflect on my past
everyone always says,
“don’t look back,”
but i think it’s important
to remember where you once stood
and recognize how far you’ve come
i know i’ve changed
and i know i will continue to change
so why at 2am on a monday night
do i get stuck believing
that things will always be the same?
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:44 PM UTC
Slumming.
Slumming around downtown.
Slumming around downtown St. Paul.
A broke high school student.
A broke student with perpetual down time.
A broken down senior student letting go of time.
Slumming.
Slumming down to Raspberry.
Slumming down to Raspberry Island.
Walking across the Mississippi River.
The bridge had been raided.
Marching.
Marching down teal and raspberry stairs.
Icycle nose hairs.
Seeing my breath as my chest shivers.
I found my heart trapped under the solid river.
Teenagers ******** about freshmen that got the bridge raided,
Teenagers ******** about artists they've always hated
and artists ******** about things they've created.
Underagers slowly letting out smoke.
Underagers letting out what keeps their lungs beating.
Underagers slowly letting out steam, cheating.
Me.
letting out smoke that came from the ice.
Smoke of below zero temperature, freezing my insides.
Mindless.
Mindlessly walking.
Mindlessly walking through endless skyways.
Mindless.
Mindlessly talking.
Mindlessly talking about things I don't remember.
Until we've arrived at We-Be-Smokin'.
Huddling.
Huddling in a group.
Admiring the art that claimed the spot before we did.
Scuttling.
Feet scuttling.
Feet scuttling in place to outrun the cold.
Reminiscing of months before when I was sitting alone in Starbucks with my
venti white chocolate mocha listening to crazy George yell at his imaginary
wife. Not being bothered. Not being cold.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
Running. Across the open green,
Mindlessly chasing, to what would seem
Like a pebble to this small world,
Nobody that knew him,
Could say his story was untold,
Because I could love to tell it,
Since I was two years old.
Every Saturday morning,
A stench filled the air,
One that was as awakening,
As a surprise that was so unfair.
It was him, cooking while we remained sound asleep,
It didn't really bother him,
He was the provider of this keep.
One won't realize what they have,
Until it is gone, o so gone.
He was the best dad,
That words unspoken toward him, couldn't even fawn.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
A demon masquerading
as the almighty dollar;
she is cunning,
and she is tricky.
She is beguiling,
and she is illusory.
Deceitful and avaricious,
yet believers follow
aimlessly. To have her
in your possession is
nothing like how it
feels to be stripped of her.
Those who succumb to
her seduction are granted
luxury and leisure;
the pledge to idolize
her mindlessly is
engraved into our brains.
Indigence, starvation;
the deprivation of the
green goddess is malicious.
Free yourselves from the hold
she has on you; from the
worldly power she possesses.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
These 4 years drove your memories away,
but i never knew you'll make me write someday.
"Love at first sight" exists,i knew then,
I reminisce,12th April at dehradun railway station.
I hopped down the train,
whining children,seperating lovers
loving families,pleading beggars i saw,
Searching for coolie,my eyes glued
on a boy,leaning on a pole,
An absolute treat to eyes
casted a spell on heart of metal.
shapely body,white skinned,
curly hair,lips like petal.
Yellow t-shirt on the skin of gold,
dimple-dipped chuckles,widened his charm fourfold.
unsure,if it's just my eyes or it was him
who resembled the Greek Gods.
Talking over the phone,he burst into laughter
His playful,lively voice
husky deep baritone,
bringing my dead senses alive.
Mindlessly,I pictured us,together
laughing profusely on a riverside.
He raised his hands for adjusting his hair.
I felt his fingers brushing
a strand of my hair behind my ear.
The morbid roar of trains ,
turned into the symphony of my heart.
abruptly,
breaking my spell called a girl from behind,
long haired,beautiful,leapt at him,
no sooner he grabbed her tight in his embrace.
Mad Lovers,my heart soliloquised.
and here came all my wishful thinking to an end.
I turned and walked away a little heartbroken
before i could win him,he was taken .
You gave me nothing but trust me
for those minutes i wanted to be your everything
I scrumpulously stole those seconds from your life
which still make me skip a beat.
I'll think about you again after a few days,
for now,enough of nostalgia.
and which ***** said,
Love at first sight saves time?
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
Let me tell you the story of my death:
Carving words on the bark of a tree
A poem that means life to me.
Glows through night, my soul delights!
*"Exist beyond my death, oh please...
So I could live in bliss at least."*
But they cut the tree, so mindlessly
Illegally. **** selfishly!
In chainsaw, I was murdered.
*A massacre,
... a massacre of my every being!!*
I'm a ghost that forgot, the best in me
Now writes relentlessly
To relive the words, once killed in greed
I found the "papers", the poems you lead...
Then before me, is some piece of me
they killed.
I died a hero,
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
I may of had shown you,
*my body,
on my camera,
on my Skype,*
But Know that I had trusted you,
*with my body,
when you said you weren't recording,
when you really were,*
Know you,
*can never be forgive for the blackmail you pulled on me,
the hurtful words you mindlessly sent like typing away at,
the someone who's nothing is a funny little innocent game,*
and you,
*hurt me the most when you could type away all day long,
like the fact that I was a human being with a soul meant nothing,
like how your words of trust should of been left for nothing,*
But you,
*play it off as if it was a joke because I did something wrong,
When I asked you as I cried because I though my life was over,
When ever I hurt you what ever I said I'm sorry*
**I said I'm ******* sorry to you,**
*When you should of said it to me,
you should of stopped ******* with me,
you just wouldn't stop,*
I told you,
*That I barley am going anywhere,
and you don't get to take the little hope I have left,
and throw it the **** away like everyone else,*
I told you,
*that Yes I made a mistake in trusting you,
but I have been ******* over by too many people,
but I never once thought it be you,*
I told you,
*That I never asked to get *****
I have no value in the body my soul walks in each and every day,
I told you everything you already knew about me,*
and you,
*still didn't ******* stop trying to hurt me,
you told me to **** myself,
you said I'm nothing more then a fat **** for guys who can't get anyone,*
you,
******* you made me cry even harder,
telling me your going to post it on my Facebook,
telling me your going to send it to my school,*
You,
*Made me black out,
because I couldn't calm down,
Because I couldn't deal with you and everyone in this **** town,*
You.
*were not going to be the reason I cant leave this hell hole,
but you were the reason I broke a almost four month clean stride,
but I don't remember **** from that night,*
**I wrote **** you,**
Justin *on my skin as if that ink could get all the pain you caused out,
and it clearly couldn't
and I told you,*
you win,
*because I didn't wanna play with the devil,
when you had no sympathy for others,
when you held my entire life in your* hand,
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
The sun rays hit my eyes waking me up from my good night's sleep
I yawn, stretch my arms and jump out of bed.
I look out the window, there're smiles and sunshine.
I spend the day mindlessly staring at the sunshine.
The sun rays hit my eyes waking me up from my good night's sleep
I yawn, stretch my arms and jump out of bed.
I look out the window, there're smiles and sunshine.
I spend another day mindlessly staring at the sunshine.
The sun rays hit my eyes waking me up from my sleep
I yawn and crawl out of bed.
I look out the window, there're smiles and sunshine.
I spend the day pointlessly staring at the sunshine.
The sun rays hit my eyes waking me up from my sleep
I look out the window, there're smiles and sunshine.
I close the curtains and go back to bed.
The sound of rain splashing against my window wakes me up from my sleep.
I open the curtains and look out the window.
There's rain and sunshine.
I look at the raindrops sliding down the window, drawn in by it's guilty pleasure.
I'm woken up by thunder crashing down from the heavens.
Startled, I look at my window: it's open.
I look out the open window, it's pitch black for all the eye can see
I mindlessly stare at the darkness as it creeps inside.
I wake up and turn towards the window: there is no window.
I go back to sleep.
I don't wake up.
I don't wake up.
I don't wake up.
I can't wake up.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 6:38 AM UTC
Pollution of the mind is real.
Our minds are cluttered with uselessness.
Stories on the street repeated mindlessly.
Words describe men and women as animals.
We insult the person and demean the animal.
We are no longer part of nature, unnatural we are.
People are dumb as a donkey, wise as an owl.
If a woman disagrees she is a ***** fights, a cat, she is.
To be a good mother you have to be a hen.
A man is built like a horse he is part of a stable.
In times of slavery Black people were animal, soulless.
Confusion between humans and animals caused by disconnection.
Religions and Politics in ****** use rats to justify: hatred.
Jews are told they are pigs, and drink blood.
Blood and Pigs are forbidden in Judaism.
Culturally socially we repeat mindlessly: slander.
Our connection to the earth and animal is lost so is our humanity.
Pollution of the earth causes pollution of the mind.
The earth cleanses itself by fire and ice.
The mind can also: freeze out these concepts these fallacies.
Burn the words that are defamation and abomination.
Do; yes do this to avoid the fires of hell.
Soon, hell will freeze over and become heaven.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
What's behind the Bright Red Door, is it all my dreams come true
Is this where Time and Circumstances has secretly hidden you
Did Circumstances steal you away before the light of day
Keeping you confined, for reasons Time won't say
Should I crack it open, take a peek, do I dare explore
Do I even want to know the secrets of the Bright Red Door
Maybe it's my lost childhood, that behind it is imprisoned
Books read at bedtime, awake before the sun has risen
Mud pies are made, fire flies chased and all my mistakes forgiven
Before the division, when Happily Ever After was still envisioned
Should I crack it open, take a peek, do I dare explore
Do I even want to know the secrets of the Bright Red Door
Wonder if it's my future there, right beyond that door
I know my past, I know my present, both have left me floored
Would it finally all work out, or the universe's fatal blow
I'm still holding tightly on to hope, so do I really want to know
Should I crack it open, take a peek, do I dare explore
Do I even want to know the secrets of the Bright Red Door
Standing in front of it, mindlessly wringing my hands
Heart beats, that of a humming bird that never lands
Skin on fire, as it turns white with the fear
Hand shaking, turning cold as the **** comes near
Should I crack it open, take a peek, do I dare explore
Do I even want to know the secrets of the Bright Red Door
If old dreams lie behind it, can't I simply dream anew
If it's a lost childhood imprisoned, it's ok, with the years I grew
If the future, shouldn't it remain unseen, leaving hope to grow
For as mere humans we're ment to look forward, only to tomorrow
I turn away from that Bright Red Door, temptation firmly resisted
What does lie beyond, I'm sure is severely twisted
©Pauline Russell
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 9:21 PM UTC
He was the epitome of a loveless boy, and he knew it. In fact, that was what kept him restlessly awake most nights, especially on this particular evening. He glanced down at the dark mess of hair that was laid across his chest and listened to the soft emission of peaceful breathing slipping from the lips of the girl whose name he did not remember. For a second, he debated on searching the dark corners of his mind in an attempt to remember it, but he soon realized he never even bothered to ask. This disappointed him for one reason - it was another question mark that he had to add to the list of names that he kept pinned to the front of his brain. At the thought of this particular list, he felt sick, as though an ounce of regret had seeped into his stomach and spread like an infection and now threatened to rise like bile. He knew he needed to keep it down, so he leaned over his bed and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the glass bottle he kept hidden in the bed springs. He sat back up and slowly unscrewed the cap, his eyes mesmerized by the amber liquid that swirled around the bottom half like a whirlpool of gold. He brought the top to his lips and tipped it back, filling his mouth with the warmth of forgetfulness and feeling as it burned his throat like fire the entire way down. It instantly washed him clean of every bad memory he had done his best to forget for the past week. Every tear that every girl had shed on their knees in front of him, begging him to love them; every cigarette that he had chain-smoked on the rooftop of his apartment building in an effort to cloud these very memories (unsuccessfully); every streetlamp that he had found solace in as he walked the streets mindlessly at three am, searching for answers that never came to him. He closed his eyes and imagined the whiskey rising inside of him until it leaked into his lungs and filled them, drowning him. He held his breath, pondering how long it would take for him to go lifeless in this position. But the sudden stop in the rise and fall of his chest caused the female lying on it to stir in her sleep, draping her arm around him and pulling him even closer. He felt sick again so he took another sip. He knew that when he looked back on this evening, he wouldn't remember it, which was becoming a classic move on his part. In fact, his life had become nothing more than disconnected nights with nameless and faceless females and fire whiskey that filled all the empty space within him. And he wasn't sure how that had come to be, but he no longer cared enough to even attempt to figure it out.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, feel with others and make them understood:->
in her feels not mine to be
in her exclamations a secret to the seeking havens I see
just from the beginning
I confess I blurt must
bring respect to hands of dust
undone by the noise
maybe breathed to the wrong soils
for me to you its a pathetic muse
for you to me its a phenomenal---an interlude
wrapped around a neck a tormenting noose
for the lines might be altogether attached
yet by the hearts ultimately snatched
yet the pieces left broken
swept under the deeps of the rug gone unspoken
strangling up to the muffled tears
been shed been dear
even when life is brought to its feet
still bound to magnetize
she drugs our feels
your moons---a blessing in a demon to the darks
not a silver not a golden not a dime a ricocheting stark
painted on ceilings
are you an angel haunted by the devils???
seems like God is unfair
sorting mindlessly things just for hearts to rebel
a past life you wish you could speak of you may
from them those of the brutal realizes to draw out through the way
disguised on the pretends
you pay
so **** miserable for me to digest to decay
what about you the owner
of a curse everyday???
believed to be a sad sad serenade
just from the no ending
where I await a second
I confess I blurt I must say
------ravenfeels
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 12:57 PM UTC
Give me your pain.
You don't need to have it,
Nor should you and you don't deserve it.
Wipe your tears away,
That cover your pretty face.
Find that smile again.
Your smile, you think.
Well that is fake,
But that's what I want to change.
Give me your pain,
Give me it all.
Then you won't have to suffer,
anymore.
Think to your self.
Not of your demons inside,
But instead angelic thoughts.
Your lying in bed,
The covers over your head.
Now softly have sweet dreams.
Waking up in the morning,
You wash your face.
Now start the day with joy.
Give me your pain,
I say once again.
I'll hide it away from you.
You don't need to weep,
Your thoughts not too deep,
If you just give your pain to me.
There's no need for you,
To be on your knees.
Next wipe the dirt from the floor.
Pour yourself a drink,
Very mindlessly.
You don't need to be careful anymore.
Give me your pain,
Is what I say everyday.
I don't want to be ignored.
Guys, give me your pain!
This is what i think and want.
I don't want you or anyone,
to suffer from your thoughts.
So give me your pain.
I don't have much,
but I want a whole lot more.
I'd brace a smile, everyday,
to free you from this mess.
Give me your pain,
I whisper to you.
I am not asking but demanding.
I will not accept you saying no,
so don't deny me again.
Instead, the thing you can do,
is give me your pain now.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
In school they always tell you to be nice
But as you get older that doesn't suffice
You’re forced to join the rat race
Get blood on your hands and dirt on your face
You’re compelled to live up to societies expectations
Make time for your disingenuous relations
While you’re spoon fed meaningless entertainment
Where did I sign up for this ****** arrangement?
Now as I’m writing this
I’m entering the abyss
Of my own personal doom
While those around me mindlessly consume
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
Every SunDay
I sat acRoss from him
watching as he mIndlessly grabbed
for his black pen
out of his flannel shirt pockeT
Every Sunday
we walkEd to the
corner stoRe Across the street
from our small
picket Fence and grabbed
a Sunday paper from
the bottoM of the Stack.
Every SundaY
He wore his glasSes
instead of his contacts.
"It gives me better brain function"
he said Every Sunday
Every SUnday
he asked me the strangest
questions imaginable.
"WHats a 4 letter word
for 'In times past'"
to which I would respond
"once might fit,"
or whatever tHe answer
could be.
Every Sunday
we became an
invinCible team
a word fighting Duo
Every SuNday
we defeated the
greatest villain to
newspapers everywhere
the NY Times
Crossword
every sunday
i fell in love
more and more
a never-ending crossword.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
We see it
As a victory
Of the human spirit,
Tales of glory
That makes us proud.
But it’s a pity
She’s denuded bare,
Ravaged her virginity,
And up there
There’s a crowd.
The height is made to pale,
They’re dwarfing the peak,
Adventurers on glory’s trail
Litter the path they scale.
We take it as a test
Of man’s superior might
That would not rest
Till it scales the greatest height.
But the mountain is no more clean,
Tons of wastes scar its air,
She’s turned into a dustbin
By the crowd going up there.
Should we feel proud,
And not hear the warning bell,
As the mountain is trodden like hell
By the mindlessly adventuring crowd?
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
Here’s the thing about moments; we don’t take the time to appreciate them until they are over
-like that brief second when he pushes your hair away from your face mindlessly while lying down
-like that small amount of time when you’re laughing so hard you’re crying making fun of one another
-like that instant your eyes meet in a crowd full of strangers and you both smile ever so softly
-like that fleeting flash where his hand grips your knee without thought in the car on the way to the grocery store
-like that short minute where he without a care in the world accidentally tells you that he loves you for the first time and you cannot breathe
Love is a series of moments we seemingly take for granted, if only we knew how special those moments were as we were in them
Nov 15, 2021
Nov 15, 2021 at 9:58 AM UTC