I can’t think about it. If I think about it, I feel and if I feel it…
I miss it.
I start missing my heart before it was covered in scars and I miss him when we had no lives to get on with. I miss her and her outrageous laugh and the way she looked up to me.
I miss being looked up to.
I miss the freshness of my blood and the way every feeling hit me like an electric shock. Every breath would fill the outline of my chest, take it’s time on the soft parts of my mouth, and become an invisible cloud I could still somehow see.
If I think about it, I’m older. I know more and I’ve felt so much and I know how to keep things at bay. Every arm’s length-distance I place between me and whatever-it-is makes me wish I could go back to how I was before I hated things touching my heart.
Maybe I’m not as messy as I once was. Though, was it all bad to be that raw to the world? To drink from a glass and let it dance from the edge to your tongue and feel it like it was the first time?
I can wield my words like magic, but what’s the use if I know the secret behind the tricks?
Maybe I want to be awed by it, too.
I want to feel for the first time, again.
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.
My voice holds fast
afraid to say something wrong
and break the perfect silence
Your voice rushes
wanting to say absolutely everything
yet still saying nothing
We are matched in the pointlessness
of our words, unused
or otherwise because we can’t say
how many times we picture our hands
sliding perfectly together
My silence speaks just as loudly
as the words you leave out
because I can’t say just how many times
I think about kissing you
and you can only tell me everything
that means absolutely nothing
They’re my favorite words
Yet they’re the hardest to say
I feel them swimming through my veins
And I bleed them out in every cut
My eyes brim with them
Most of the time –
Watching a sunset,
Gazing at the stars,
Seeing my content mother,
Feeling anything close and intimate –
But they think something’s wrong
When I can only breathe them out
Without letting them form
Into letters and syllables
I don’t feel anything less
Than the tears I cry,
Than the hurt I scream from,
Than the warm beat of my heart –
Don’t mistake my lack of words
For a lack of feeling
Our hands slip together like a finished puzzle and it’s remarkable how complete you can feel just from a simple touch.
It’s remarkable, even, to think about how much you can feel at one time. I’ve noticed it can be as chaotic as a tornado with so many things flaring up all at once, or even as simple as one word flashing, like an Exit sign right in front of your eyes.
More often than not I’m a raging sea full of things even I barely know about. More often than not, I couldn’t begin to describe all that I’m holding in my brain, or in my heart. Yet through the miracle of my fingers, I can at least get some of them out.
So this is what I think my love really is. It’s both as simple and as complicated as putting one letter after the other to find it’s right place. Easy enough to know what it is when you have it, but excruciatingly painful to figure out how to push it past trembling lips.
When I smile at you when you catch me staring, or when I can’t seem to go one second without touching you, I hope you hear the words I can’t seem to find in my vocabulary. I hope with every other word I can find, you can piece together my meaning behind it.
Just bear with me, won’t you, while I figure out how to un-complicate a single, simple phrase.
Because I swear I feel it.
Everyone has that one voice in their head telling them right from wrong, from the good and bad, all while differentiating between them all. It just so happens that it’s your voice I hear.
It resonates and echoes through every bone in every strand of DNA.
Your voice is a record on repeat that I could never get used to. My heart beats to every syllable like my favorite song, and for the most part, it is.
Every sound you make is my favorite and I long to hear it again and again.
Tell me whatever you want to, and I will close my eyes and listen as hard as I can to everything in between the words.
So tell me everything in between the words.
To me it means something real and something intangible. Love, love is messy. Life is messy. Laughter and crying and kissing. It’s all messy, if you think about it.
My heart. My mind. My love. It is all one giant mess.