immensejoy
I told you they were my favourite flowers - well it's one of them. I told you over the phone how beautiful white flowers were because of how pure they seemed to be, how nice they look dried up and messily stuck on the pages of my diary. I told you how gorgeous white flowers looked in bouquets, in hopes that you would get me some white flowers that could end up on the pages of my diary, and I could look back and think of you. Thinking that "he got me my favourite flowers because he knew they were my favourite."
But you didn't. The dried daisies on my diary come from the lonesome walks I take when you're too busy to even ask how I am; when I'm trying my hardest to pull myself out of the thoughts of you that drown me. I pick them up along the way because daisies are just so goddamn gorgeous.
I am absolutely tired of the endless fields of green. It reminds me of how big the world is and how much untouched land there is. The world is too big for me and I am afraid. I am not afraid of the large patches of land that never seem to end, I am afraid of not seeing it all in time.
It was hard and cold. I'm pretty sure it left a mark on my face. I wish I fell on this a week ago, then I would've left a mark on it instead.
She was the sunset and sunrise combined. Absolutely breathtaking in her white camisole top and silk shorts, barefoot; standing on the balcony, leaning against the rusted blue rails. Her face an untouched art piece that glowed as bright as the rising sun. One hand held onto a mug, probably carrying her liquid energy to keep her going.
Maybe it was the same one that sat lonesome on the coffee table before me. Possibly. I took my cup in my hands. I imagined that the sudden warmth that exploded onto my palms was like the warmth that would radiate from her hands if I got the chance to hold them. I pressed my lips against the edge of my cup; the rising from my coffee fogging my glasses so I closed my eyes.
I took a sip. Swallowed.
There was something about that cup of coffee. Something beautiful and pure about the warmth that touched my lips and entered my body. Something new and alive. I held the cup with both hands, close to my face. Through the fog of my glasses, I saw her. Her face was unclear but that shine and glow was so amazingly clear. The world around me was mute. This glowing entity that stood silently, basking in the sun on that stage demanded my attention - louder than any siren, drum, yell... she was better than that.
My balcony girl. Oh how I hoped she felt my energy in her cup of life as I felt hers through mine.
"I feel it. Incapable. Towards almost everything - most things, in fact." He was nibbling on the tip of his thumb. It was an action I've come to know as a sign of stress or discomfort for him. But what about? Why was he so stressed?
I felt my brows knit together as I studied him, trying to find some sort of answer that I knew would only escape his lips but I don't think he even knew what he was on about. His curly hair was a mess and his glasses almost at the tip of his nose, he mumbled words I couldn't hear and I guessed that he was trying to formulate some kind of sentence that would... release him from this state.
What are you stressed about? What's on your mind? Why are you like this? What do you have to say? Why can't you say it... right enough?