my soul is expanding. i am growing a garden within this body. roses and sunflowers are blooming up into my chest. my heart is surrounded by growth.
the thorns of the roses pierce my stomach as they bloom taller and more beautiful. my soul is made up of roses and sunflowers; i am both beauty and pain.
— growing pains
Love smells of teakwood and rain. the scent tattooed on your skin, your hair salted with hints of blond. your heart was a flame, but I was the crashing wave. Love feels of silk and honey running down my body, and your hands holding up my legs. Love tastes of last nights red wine that stained your breath, yet I still kissed you with my mouth open. Love looks like every imperfection of you.
There is nothing more in the world that makes me more aware of the wear on my mind that the moment of solitude enjoyed.
I was sitting in my class, and I was looking around at everybody around me. I saw how everybody was happy and socializing. They found joy in the social setting– discussing their common interests, their hobbies, everything that they could possibly talk about. I found myself happy knowing that I was sitting on my own in silence. I realized that my mind has been alone for so long that I have found joy in my own mental solitude.
I am afraid of falling asleep, I am afraid of bumping into you along the way. The feeling of your hips against mine is more than just a memory, and it’s still hard to believe that I will never hold you again. I’m worried that I will be this way forever. My writing is consumed by you, and I am sickened by it. I wish I had an easier time falling asleep. I wish I had someone’s arms around me right now. I am dancing with insomnia to the beat of my pen hitting the paper, writing about what it feels like to be alone.
We lay in bed wide awake, hoping for a sign that we had a chance. Or at least that’s what your eyes said, at a glance. Your hands warm with the fire that burned my skin. You never stood a chance with the idea of romance. Now I sit in bed, alone in my head and I don’t want to talk anymore. I miss you a lot, and I don’t want to talk at all.
These lines were inspired by i miss you a lot (happy birthday) by flatsound. I found that this song truly covers nearly every emotion I have ever felt about him. I could not get this song out of my head for the longest time. I find that it contradicts everything that I feel, and everything that I say. At least that’s how I feel listening to it. I find that when somebody misses a person, or loves a person deeply, they can’t stop talking to them or about them. But in my case, I had loved a person so deeply, and missed them so painfully that I didn’t even want to talk anymore. I developed a silence that I could only express in writing.
I can draw your room by memory. My hands can still follow your body. Each beauty spot, tan line and curve was worshiped by my own hand. You breath was uneasy. You told me you trust me and love me. Now your breath is still cold, and your body still holds as a place of worship, but my hands no longer transcribe the scripture of love from your breath.
I always come back to this moment we had shared. It’s the moment I knew I was in love with him. I knew I had loved him deeply, but this moment was special. I feel like I write about this moment profusely, and I continuously try to write about the same moment in a different form. This refers to the body being a temple of worship, but no longer holding me as the person of worship. I guess thinking about it now, I had an unhealthy mindset that my world did truly revolved around him.
Last night I laid in bed listening to the rain fall. The verbatim of the drops on my window sounded like a knocking, asking me to come outside to enjoy the view of the fire being let up by the storm.
I was laying in bed one night, and for the first time in my life, I found comfort in the sound of thunder and rain. It was 3 a.m., and I thought about him outside my window. I had imagined this as a sign that I never wanted. I recorded the audio of rain hitting my window, and had the urge to create something out of it. Create something from the sadness I felt in that moment.
After 3 a.m., I spoke your name freely like a love poem. Your name absent in my sober thought and word. After 3 a.m., your name drunkenly spells out love on my tongue.
I found that I never talk about my ex openly unless I am drunk off insomnia. I find that when I give up the control on my mind, I start to speak about him in terms of love and devotion. My mind is always weak when I’m dancing with insomnia.