Sometimes it feel likes a stone arch, one that you would find in the ruins of some old place. There’s something so beautiful and yet so sad about it. You press your hand to it and try to breathe in the life that used to be there.
I’m sure that when others say they have an old soul they don’t mean one that was born into the world already in ruins. Or so easily able to be crumbled. Like it has already weathered from time that had yet to even touch it. Yet sometimes it feels like an ancient stone arch. Or maybe pieces of one.
I’m not a landmark that everyone wants to see, to wish they had been apart of or had seen in it’s glory. In the midst of everything, a few wandering glances might catch sight of me and see beauty from the wreckage, but mostly I’m an overlooked, rundown, nothing-great.
The stories found here aren’t so wondrous. They aren’t magical and they don’t take you to some far-off place.
The stories found here are as plain as stone and maybe just as cold. Don’t forget to wear your jacket and tread carefully. Don’t slip on any cracks.
Don’t lose yourself in the way he loves you. He kisses you because he can; it’s not because you align his stars or keep his blood warm.
When your eyes close in the familiar darkness of his room, don’t get caught up in the way it feels like home. It is a place to rest your head next to his, not an escape from your world. This isn’t a reprieve and he is not a safe haven.
Yours arms can wrap around him and as much as your heart wants to jump into him, it is still yours. It’s okay to love – it is always okay to love – but remember, please, that you are more than your love for him.
He can whisper into your hair until his lungs give out, but words are just letters and sounds and they are just as easily said as lies. Please, just be smart. Everything can be broken, from his words, to your heart.
The stars can glitter all they like, and feel free to toss them your wishes. Just don’t waste your wishes on him. If only one ever gets granted, know it’s okay to be selfish and let it be in your best interest.
I kissed you, when every word I could think of was just too damn difficult to say. Words have never been easy but, dammit, I could kiss you hard enough to show everything through that one action. Don’t you dare tell me otherwise.
My breath would catch in my throat and my mouth would go dry. My heart would beat like a jackhammer and I would feel every flood of emotion in my blood. And I could still show it in every kiss.
Fingertips trailing on your skin, did you know I spelled out every word I felt over and over until it didn’t make sense?
I won’t talk about the maybe’s. I won’t talk about the could-have-been’s, what-if’s, and I-wonder’s.
But I can still recite the love that made up every cell from the moment I fell for you. It could still pour out of my mouth like I was never broken. They might not be pieced back together for you, but they could be created again. Under new management, anyway.
And I will close my eyes and tilt my head to the skies and pray for a new love in my pulse. My tongue will twist in my mouth until it can finally make the phrase anew: I love you.
Every heartbeat I feel is just a ticking clock counting down until my world explodes in new color that makes my blood boil and my mind soothe. Something so conflicting and calming and chaotic that it will take my breath away until all I can gasp for is the air from that connection.
Da Duh. Da Duh. Da Duh.
The clock is just counting down.
You whisper your prayers into my skin like I’m the god you stopped believing in. I can only hold you tightly and hope that whatever you want is meant to be.
You have your beliefs, and I have mine, but I’m not so stubborn as to think I have to be right. Or you have to be wrong.
Love drips from every word I speak in your direction but I find my lips numb far too often. My tongue twists in knots and I overfill in the form of tears. Frustration sets in and I hope you know I’m not mad at you.
The heart in my chest rages on like the seas and the storm in my blood never settles. My glass skin feels much too like ice and I’m sorry I always come off so cold. I haven’t found a fire warm enough to melt me. I don’t know how to shed this armor.
I feel you growing restless and I feel you toss and turn at night. My arm only reaches out when you’ve left the bed and I’m sorry I’m afraid of the pulse in my veins.
I’ve got apologies falling from my head and filling up the empty spaces around me, but I don’t know how to explain them to you. I both need to, and can’t, let you know how I feel. But I can’t seem to let go of this fear.
My mind conjures up monsters that hide in the shadows and sometimes they look like you. It’s not you that makes me flinch, it’s the shadow that feigns you instead. I just have yet to spot the differences.
You hold my hand like it’s the most simple thing in the world. When my fingers wrap around yours, I’m holding on to more than you know. I am holding on to pretty light and white sound. I am holding on to soft smiles and bright eyes and the comfort encapsulated in your very body.
I don’t know how to tell you you’re the angel on my shoulder and the one I talk to for comfort when I’m alone at night. Blankets are pulled tighter around my shoulders and I don’t know how to let you know I pretend your arms are around me when they can’t be.
In my head you’ve saved me over and over. My fingertips trace the numbers on the phone and all I think about it you. All I want to hear is your voice in my ear and and I want to feel is your breath on my skin.
I would leave the door unlocked for you.
I would leave the lights on.
I can’t get it out of my head; everything I’ve ever said or done like it’s one big ink stain on my reality. Like I’m the only reason why there are fall backs and hindrances.
I swear I’m not a huge fuck-up but I see everything pointing back to me and even while I know it’s false that’s the only thing that sounds right. My head can shake in refusal and nonacceptance but it still presses further and further into my being like once it makes its way through, that’s it. It’s written in stone. It’s truth.
Everyone tries to twist my words and my actions, they try to twist what kind of person I am to fit their lives. Of course then when I can’t find it in me to let anyone in, it’s my fault and somehow I’m still the one fucked up.
These bonds people place on my wrists to theirs feel brittle while they look like diamond to everyone else. One jerk in the other direction and we’re both let free, but somehow they don’t see that.
I’m not the bad guy. But I’m also not the hero.
I wish everyone would understand that I am not their hero.
I am not a hero.
There’s static between my ears that makes it hard to concentrate on anything. I can close my eyes as tight as I can, I can even silence everything around me. That static never seems to cease.
My lungs fill with smoke and I inhale the familiar taste. There’s a slight burn that I don’t remember and I think I do this for nostalgia.
My hands are used to pushing people away. They’re even used to using some. Can you be called manipulative even when you never advertise anything other than your own intentions?
Feelings have been used up and my heart’s tired, pushing people away just to get a little rest. It doesn’t know quite how to limit itself so it’s learned to adapt – limiting those who get close instead. It a trade that sometimes leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
The smoke only masks it for a little while.
I don’t pretend to be anything other than what I am. It’s not my fault if the picture you’ve tried to make me into isn’t a reality.
I’m sick of the blame placed on my shoulders, and I’m sick of the mess everyone seems to try to make. Concentration is difficult at best, I’m not going to waste my time on you.
Where did you even get the idea?