Looking at her is like looking at the stars; the feeling is quite beyond words. I can't tell what it is, but I know I just want to keep looking. I've seen beautiful and I've seen her. I've seen the full moon in all its radiance but nothing of her beautiful face. Words are amiss for the sensation, the shivers and the free falling of the my human soul into this infinite perfection. When my eyes beheld her, I disarmingly watched my defenses succumb to the illusion of her perfection. I wish I could show her, when she’s lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of her own being." There is not a word I couldn't possibly tell her. “Come back to the place where you've always belonged; the place where warmth and love dwell. I'm not ideal. The portraits I paint are for blind eyes. Come back to the start where you find in your heart you've always belonged. True love waits. Can't promise you perfection, can't promise everything you want, but I can promise you all the love I possess. It's not much but when the tide rises, it'll be there, waiting to wrap its arms around you and whisper, "We'll be alright". I want to see your face and know I made it home.
It’s the little things that make my heart smile and they are the things I treasure most about every time we've spent together. We never really talked about anything special or controversial but we never really run out of things to say.
"My hands are roaming the velvet-smooth feeling of being loved. Eyes shut, dreaming of nothing. I want to bring you to the tallest of mountains and the highest of treetops, where no man has gone before. I want to paint you the portrait of what it looks like when the light hits us in that 4:30 pm way. I want to tell you what it feels like to be engulfed by the flames of holding your hand in the cold. Maybe, yes. I’m still lost in this mystifying mist of memories that has left me powerless. I watch my heart go out like a light, thoughtless. I tried to forget but you grew roots around my rib cage, sprouted flowers just below my collar bones. All day I pluck their petals. I have not yet ascertained whether you love me. I sit in my room, alone, using light that peers in-between the cracks of the blind to document the moments I spent with you. The terrible sunlight which gradually sits upon my cracked porcelain fingertips continues to press ink among the pages. As the words gracefully sway out from my lips and onto the pale white piece of paper, the thought of you suddenly brings me back to life. Back to a life I wish I had; a life I long to relive with you. I fell in love with the way you looked at me, the way you held my hand, how you said the right words at the wrong time.
Maybe in the next life, my heart will be like air; felt and unbroken.
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I wish you would tell me something every now and then....