Sometimes I feel as if it can be hard to point out the fine lines between love
Being in love with someone and loving them are two different things
The scary thing about being in love is that it’s not a guaranteed thing
You could find yourself in love with whom the person used to be, rather than who they will continue to become
And the scary thing about loving someone is that it never really seems to fade
I can’t help but feel that these things also make it exciting and mysterious
But I guess that that’s all perspective
“No” burns in my mind like it was spelled out in kerosene and excited by a match
I never really thought that you could want someone and not want them at the same damn time
After every bullshit move that I pulled, the end result is what I had intended from the beginning
Funny how some of us never really mean what we think
I mean what I say but to a deeper extent than my deepest thoughts
So I guess that I never truly mean what comes out of my mouth
I turn people into characters and life into a reality show like nothing actually gets to them
Though I can’t help but be as compassionate as possible
With everything that I write lately, the word “paradoxes” wraps around my vision
The trouble is that I seem to be “allowed” to pull and push people away without being called out before it’s too late
It’s hard to interest me in other people’s thoughts; I know this
It takes a hell of a mystery of a mind to make my curiosity about your thoughts perk up
But damn if the closed mind isn’t a mystery in itself
And I am a mystery to myself
And we are a mystery to me
He’s too much but it’s never enough and you’re more than enough but it was never too much
Do you understand me when I say that I started smoking to get the taste of you out of my mouth?
But it began to remind me of him so I couldn’t help but spit it out after every drag
I knew I was right when I said that people like me shouldn’t fall in love because I’ve never had great balance anyway
I considered writing the things that you said on the side of the cigarettes so I could take those words into my chest just one more time
But I couldn’t bring myself to let them have their chance at trying to kill me
I felt like you were more of the lighter that struck into having myself let him in
I lose you especially when I need you, anyways
I’m fully aware that eventually he will fade
But I feel like for him I’m an addiction and I’m dreading bringing myself to have someone ache for me
Is love when you can’t stand to be away from someone for an hour,
or when you miss them as soon as you turn your head away?
Is it when you can’t get enough of them,
when no matter what you do, how much of your bodies are touching,
you can’t help but want to be even closer?
Is it when you look into their eyes and see the world you want to live in
the place you want to reside for the rest of your life?
Or is it when the feeling of their chest gently move up and down and their heart beating so quietly
seem as the sweetest things on this earth?
Is it feeling ever so grateful for every second that you get to spend with them,
even if it is only for one second?
Is love allowing yourself to be torn apart and stitched back together by the one who did the tearing?
Is it all of these things compiled together?
Or is love just madness?
Love seems to be such a beautiful craved madness.
I have never really been sure of how I wanted to make my place in the world, but recently I was talking with someone and had gotten pretty deep into my mind: I was simply putting down whatever was welling up and it just flowed out so smoothly. And they had replied with something somewhat irrelevant in a poetic fashion, so I’d asked why they had responded with something like that, and they responded with, “Oh… I thought we were doing poetry.”
There I was, just saying what was on my mind, but they thought of it as poetry. I cannot even express how it made me feel. I just remember feeling my chest open up and take in those words. I felt so strongly mostly because I associate poetry closely to inspiration. It was amazing to me that someone had thought of my words like that. It truly got to my soul.
Inspiration is where I want my place to be.
Every late night has begun to feel like a repetition of the night before
I think I’m beginning to find myself pulling for the early morning hours
In hope that I will find someone
That will ease my mind and bring me revelations
About myself and about life
Straining for interaction with a new energy
A new perspective
Not in desperation for friends
But for conversations
Feeling deprived from the part of me that I found in you
The mysterious part of me
And whether or not I will ever experience it again
Is the reason that letting go is not even a thing I could take into consideration
And I used to reserve these hours
For opening up my chest and feeling my heart strings break
And now I just feel the need to feel
The want to feel
How I did for you
And how you made me feel for life
I hardly get the pain in my chest these days
But I also hardly feel
I have discovered that I can only conclude complicated thoughts through turning them into metaphors. Anything involving emotions is especially complex and open ended, but I’ve finally figured out how this one has made me feel:
At first, it was like we didn’t even dip our toes in the water
You just grabbed my hand and jumped in before I even had the chance to hold my breath
And for a while, I acted as if I was still coughing up water out of my lungs
Just to buy time and avoid getting back into the water
But I can’t pretend that I don’t know how to swim
And that I don’t enjoy the water
So this time we’ve decided to slip into it, stomach deep
And are testing the waters
Rather than risking diving into any unforeseen shallow parts