(Also, probably listen to this whilst reading)
I live in a world full of you, I see you in everything, yet I want to see more. To know more of you, of who you are. And I want for so much. I want for others to see you like I do.
Suprisingly enough, I'm getting better at being alone.
Standing strong when all others crawl away.
I've still got the smell of smoke lingering on my skin, but it's lesser now. I said to my friend.
We were sitting on the grass, I was propped up on my elbows, he was sitting with his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. The sunset that evening was incredible.
This week my heart was taken from me. Taken and stretched, pulled at, torn. It's not yet broken, I think it's stonger than that. But my, how it aches. It shares its pain with my lungs, and together they sigh restlessly, and from my lips creep soft whispers of longing.
This isn't about lovelorn cries. This isn't about myself, my own pursuit of dreams and fantasies.
This is about you. This is about the hurt, the broken. Those whom I love, falling apart at the seams. My heart aches for you. If I could take away the pain, oh, believe me my love, I would.
But I can't. Not in the way I would wish. To make all certain and definate. Infinitely better.
I am a hoarder of old things, of ancient stories, of love that lived together, that died together. Of knives and forks that saw things untold. Of picture frames that saw decisions to stay, decisions to leave. That saw resolution and despair. The couches that first seated ambiguous love, declarations of eternity, life mulitplied. The walls that sang, that cried, lights that danced with joy, that lit the way through untold darkness, leading the lost home.
It's been a long time since I saw you smile like you used to.
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