I’m so used to writing out of sadness, that I’m unsure how to write about you. I’ve written about dark places and empty faces. How ex-lovers stripped colour from my world like I was nothing more than a scrapped canvas in their art exhibit. I’ve found difficulties in wording how you’ve slowly brought it back. That with each kiss on my lips placed by yours is filling each blank space in my heart like watercolour, bleeding love into every crack.
When one is so used to finding beauty in darkness, they’re often blinded by the light.
I’m not sure what happened,
but somewhere along the line our nothing became something to me.
the worst part about that is
now every fibre of my being is screaming to run,
to ruin it.
it’s screaming that it’s one-sided.
my heart is bursting into flames,
yours is trying to pour cold water to douse me with pain.
that I’m preparing myself to run into a brick wall again,
and soon enough I’ll be covered in bruises.
I didn’t want this to be anything,
and the problem is that it isn’t anything.
my heart has tried to plant its roots in your garden
while yours is trying to pick me out like a weed.
and my mind is saying
to stop trying to grow with you because
I’m not a flower you’re willing to feed.
though I’m unsure if my mind is playing tricks again,
and I’m not sure if you’re just a friend.
the worst part?
I don’t want to ask,
because frankly.. I’m scared to be right.
The memory of you is a soft yellow hue, meaning somewhere in the pain and suffering you’ve brought comfort. Unfortunately, the yellow has been burning blue. Like the flame in my chest that has always been for you, too hot to touch but that’s something I knew.
I knew you would go, I knew it too well. That’s something I learned long before I fell. Falling for you was like a soft landing view on the pillows of your bed when I held onto you. I desperately want to create more memories with you, but you’re gone.
You’re gone, you’re gone.
Almost as though repeating it will drive the thought through my head. Yet I always set myself up with hope and am met with disappointment when I’m left with the realization that I’m always alone. I’ve always been alone. You’re something I’ve conjured up in hopes of being real..
When the only thing that’s real about this is how much you’ve made me feel.
She hit me like waves hit the shore,
I may not have been ready
but now I am sure.
I would allow her sea of a heart
to fill my lungs without second guessing, to have her be the reason behind my
last breath would be a blessing.
To lock my hands in her
soft coffee-coloured hair, to feel
as though there was nothing else there;
Just her and I.. with bodies intertwined,
if I could hold onto her for one last night..
I would be more than fine.