The premature tulips
Not yet bloomed,
Just like the two of us.
I’m in love with the specks of brown in those earthy eyes,
If green wasn’t already my favorite color,
It is now.
I hope you realize your self worth. I hope you realize that you are brilliant, talented, and beautiful because no matter how many times I tell you, you shrug me off.
You are a wonderful person, you will find love in everything in life; you will be successful in your career, you will have a wonderful family of your own one day, and you will find someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated—someone who is afraid to lose you. I know you will succeed in all that you do, and I desperately need you to believe in yourself. Believe me when I tell you that I am afraid to lose you. I don’t want you to move away and forget about me. I could never understand why you would even want to do that, yet I am afraid that you will.
You love that quote “We accept the love we think we deserve.” Well you deserve so much more than you have been accepting. You just haven’t met the right person yet. You have to open yourself up if you ever expect to find anything. You are not a cold person, you have a warm, gentle heart: embrace that.
He says he likes that I read.
I like that he notices.
He tells me I am an artist
As if I am painting the sky
Colors of unimaginable vibrancy.
That they are beautiful,
That they resemble me.
He tells me he wants to take care of me.
I hold out my hand
Giving it to him,
Releasing my heart.
We speak of rushing oceans
We speak of the sea.
He tells me he wants me to stay for a long time.
An undeviating entity, invariable,
I am an island in the vast ocean,
Contained, yet full of all necessities,
I listen to him—
So full of passion.
He calls me brilliant, yet
I am in awe of his mind.
Spills out of every pore
Beckoning me to trust,
Not only in him but in something more.
Something much more powerful,
Than our minds can even comprehend.
Winds knock me over
The waves crash into me.
We speak of fire,
As the turntable sings a sweet melody
As we loose sense of reality,
We mustn’t speak of desire
With words unworthy.
There is a fire burning whenever he is around.
I thought to myself,
I don’t want to be me anymore.
I want to be someone else.
To forget about my problems,
The fears in my mind,
The worries I face,
To walk in the shoes of another
For a few days,
Would be the life.
But whose life?
Certainly not my own.
I remember when you went on vacation. A whole 8 days passed—seemed like the longest 8 days of my life. There wasn’t one of those 8 days that you didn’t cross my mind. And now you’ve been gone for 9. And I haven’t thought about you, truly thought about you, until today. You’re fading. I’m losing you. This is real. You are actually gone. There is no comfort left in knowing that you are only a phone call away, or a five minute drive. There is no comfort in hoping that you might still care about me, still want to be with me. There is no comfort left in my bed, on my couch, in my passenger seat without you being there. I wanted to tell you so many things, but I didn’t know how. I don’t know how.
As our hands accidently brushed,
Two separate minds signaling two unconnected bodies
Toward a straw wrapper,
I felt a new sensation.
My fingers no longer tingled,
The sting of a blossoming romance
Like two lovers reaching for popcorn,
The itch to be closer to you—as close as possible
As you sat across from me,
The sunlight reflecting in your eyes,
I no longer saw myself.
I couldn’t glimpse into the future through those blue eyes,
Tunnels running into your heart,
I couldn’t imagine myself—the way you see me—the way you used to see us.
When I looked at you,
From the other side of the cracked leather booth,
The longing in my soul, in my bones, to be next to you
When I say your name now,
I will never annunciate the soft “s” sound,
Which is now a lonely letter,
Left with no meaning behind the façade of a man—no sweet significance.
I am left with a name,
Like a widower is left with only pictures
Of the memories that once transpired.
I am left with only memories
That I no longer feel a sharp sting from.
Love that was like a black and yellow insect,
That previously sent shivers—deep shivers—
Completely through each and every vertebrae,
Is no longer left buzzing in my head,
No longer absorbing the space that it once consumed,
No longer agonizingly pricking my brain or wounding my heart.
We are left as two strangers,
Two independent bodies,
Sitting on two separate seats,
Reaching for the same piece of scrap,
Before we continue a thought,
Uninterrupted by any sensation of mutual touch,
As our hands recede,
And the wrapper blows away in the wind,
A symbol of our connection, vanishes,
Just like our affection that faded as fast as it began.