We fall in love with the things that intrigue us, with the things we can never fully grasp. We love them because they’re always there, at the back of our minds, begging us to explore them. I love dance because I constantly want to know how far I can push myself. I love writing because there’s an endless combination of words that you can string together to form an endless number of thoughts, sentences, stories. I love you because you’re the one person I can’t read at all, ever. Don’t ever change.
They call it falling in love for a reason. That’s what you’re doing, you’re falling.
You’re not stepping.
You’re not jumping.
You’re not walking, running, wading, skipping, tip-toeing, stomping, or crawling.
You’re falling into it.
Have you ever tried falling from something? It’s hard. It’s scary as hell.
You stand there, on the edge. Thinking, wondering, waiting. You step up, so your toes are just over the edge. You tentatively lean over, to see just how far there is to go. But you can never tell. You gulp, look behind you, and take a few steps back. You turn away from the edge, take a deep breath, then turn around and hit the ground running.
You haven’t done that yet. You’re still seeing if there’s another way down, some steps, or a not-so steep cliff you can slide down. You’re not ready to fall, because you’re too afraid of what’s at the bottom.
And I guess that’s all right. To each his own. But this is your choice. You’re the one who needs to fall. There’s no one to push you.
Losing love is losing yourself. A part of my heart wilted away leaving only bits and pieces of my lost soul. Broken, each day is a struggle. Each reluctant breath I take means nothing anymore.
From waking up to laying down to sleep at the end of another soul less day the pain continues and all thoughts and actions run forever from my mind. It hurts no matter where I touch, smell of feel. Thinking of anything but you is impossible. I hesitate to open my eyes, my thoughts, my life, to anything or anyone ever again.
I know what I felt. Don’t tell me, now, after all this time it was impossible, I was mistaken and you don’t think we are what we have been to each other…..
When I wrote in blue.
I thought of writing you a letter,
One that spoke of my heart to you,
How with you things felt better,
Where to begin I didn’t have a clue.
I wondered of the sun and moon,
Of mountains majestic and waters blue,
Of the season where flowers bloom,
Of rains with their warmth in gloom.
None of them seem to say it right,
Of what my heart feels when you call to me,
The times you remind me of myself when I forget,
I realize like a fool I didn’t need all the mockery.
All I wanted to say was so simple,
When on the white I wrote in blue,
Nothing else said it better than the three oldest words,
I love you.
Wake up thinking it’s just another day,
I didn’t realize it’ll be all different,
Went on to exist in my bubble where things run wild in imagination,
But when I looked around I couldn’t see you anywhere,
And suddenly it became a regularly irregular day,
No matter how many times it happens,
I can never get used to the thought of the day without you in sight,
Truthfully, I miss you every moment without,
I’m afraid of saying it for I wonder if you’ll feel afraid,
Knowing how much you’re on my mind,
Instead I think when you’ll be back from the world outside,
Maybe you’ll tell me what adventures you had there,
What interesting people you met,
I’ll fumble with telling you how much I missed you,
Cover for it with something stupid I did,
And you’ll call me an idiot,
I’ll laugh and think to myself,
Your idiot I’ll always remain,
I’ll fall asleep wondering how
Irregularly regular the day was,
Don’t look, don’t look for it I tell myself,
Let it come to you the world says,
In places alone I wish for her,
You wish for him,
When will we find each other?
Please let me fall in love again…
They don’t make fun of broken hearts,
Everyone’s got one,
You’ll get a smile that says,
”I’ve been there too,
You too will soon know better than to be a fool”,
I know we haven’t met,
May be we might,
Till then i am bargaining within,
Inside I quietly say, I hope,
Let me fall in love again,
In the late hours when I wish for someone,
I will wish for you,
I will whisper your name,
May be you will hear me,
Together we can feel the same,
Let us fall in love again.
Your hand in mine.
There I stood looking into your eyes,
I saw a world in them where I want to reside,
All this while the sun came and went,
Countless times our wishes with stars disappeared in the black night,
Was it you that caught mine?
All the times I imagined of how it would be,
I never thought it would be so right,
The moment comes,
Into the night you look for a star to safely send my wish ahead,
Send me back my wish with a kiss,
So I never forget,
Guess I may never know how it is
To know how true it is as some say,
There’s nothing better when it fit so perfectly,
Your hand in mine.
Love pours out of your eyes whenever a spell is being casted upon you. You’re just like all the other people, so easy to mesmerize, so easy to surprise. It kind of looks like your eyes change color too. They match your voice perfectly.
I know you are out there
I wonder what you are doing
thinking, dreaming, wishing
Do you ever think of me
I know you are special
Oh where, Oh where
are you my true love
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
- Pablo Neruda
She had known that it wasn’t love for so long. That she had felt this way for tons of boys before and now that she looked back on it, none of it was really love.
It wasn’t love, just a longing to not be alone. It was envy, loneliness and attraction, but never love. It couldn’t be.
Because if it was love, if she was in fact longing for him and not just for someone, anyone, it would be useless. Because it could never be them.
So no, it wasn’t love. And it never could be.
It’s sad because maybe she loved them both. There’s no inevitability in it – she’s not destined for one or the other.
But one is a kiss illuminated by light and the other is a kiss consumed by shadow.
No talk of honor. Only this fiery need that knows not where to turn and maybe they both loved her so much that all three hearts are breaking.
It’s like fire and gunpowder, which as they kiss, consume, making mad messes of us all.
It was this desperate melancholy pain that sabotaged all three of them, dooming the workings of their hearts to sad longings.
There was no inevitability in it – it is tragedy and passion rolled into an inexplicable entrapment.
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