It's sick how much I'm still in love with you.
It's astonishing, how I've memorized your looks.
The one's you give when you're upset or unrealistically joyous, which come about much more often than the prior.
I've ingrained your being into mine.
Your essence has been captured by me.
Bottled, inspected, labeled and sold.
You've been shipped off...
I have no idea how many of these I've written to you.
After a while you lose count.
You never lost anything.
You always kept everything right in the palm of your hands. Simple and concise.
No reason to complicate things...until me.
You don't know what you've done. But it's not your fault. You couldn't hurt me, anyone, if you tried.
You've only ever thrown teapots.
© m.f. /Roxywaters Apr. 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Everything
I've been selfish again. I hope you'll forgive me.
Its moments like these, the small incandescent ones that form the landscape for all the rest.
I get so close to giving you all the keys that unlock the various doors and windows. Then you blindside me with something so innately wholesome and melancholy. And just like that I can't look at myself for days.
I could quite possibly be in some form of love with you, if I weren't too busy making my self fall apart at my own seams. Relapsing into a purgatory of uncertainty.
I crave your conversation. It nags at me like the cold whistling in from under the door frame. There's a constant reminder that I'm not doing it right, that I'll never get this right. But I know some things that not everyone knows. I know what his hands should be. I know the peculiar way his lips frame his teeth. I know his hair down to the grain. I can trace his shoulders with my hands as if I were molding them from clay. I'll know.
You can't tell me who you are, despite your efforts. And that could make sense... I don't know if I'm strong enough to take care of you. I'm scared to find out if I'm strong enough to let you take care of me. Such a funny word care. Conjures comforting feelings and thoughts. I wonder if I'm ready for that. To go head first and stead fast into your grasp. You'd never let me go, that much I am sure of. Do I want to be let go?
Maybe.
© m.f. /Roxywaters Apr. 2011
Its moments like these, the small incandescent ones that form the landscape for all the rest.
I get so close to giving you all the keys that unlock the various doors and windows. Then you blindside me with something so innately wholesome and melancholy. And just like that I can't look at myself for days.
I could quite possibly be in some form of love with you, if I weren't too busy making my self fall apart at my own seams. Relapsing into a purgatory of uncertainty.
I crave your conversation. It nags at me like the cold whistling in from under the door frame. There's a constant reminder that I'm not doing it right, that I'll never get this right. But I know some things that not everyone knows. I know what his hands should be. I know the peculiar way his lips frame his teeth. I know his hair down to the grain. I can trace his shoulders with my hands as if I were molding them from clay. I'll know.
You can't tell me who you are, despite your efforts. And that could make sense... I don't know if I'm strong enough to take care of you. I'm scared to find out if I'm strong enough to let you take care of me. Such a funny word care. Conjures comforting feelings and thoughts. I wonder if I'm ready for that. To go head first and stead fast into your grasp. You'd never let me go, that much I am sure of. Do I want to be let go?
Maybe.
© m.f. /Roxywaters Apr. 2011
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