I can say with pride that I live to tell the tales of when our lips met …And of the sweet devastation of belonging to you…And the helplessness of holding on to waves that crashed upon my shores. I can say with pride that I can love. But waves shall forever return to the sea where they belong.
You’re wise. And I’m stone on barren soils of existence, changing forever, yet staying the same. I’m setting out to write of love: the word I vehemently claim for my own before your critical eye.
I’m sorry I died. I never meant to take you from you, or steal the tender beauty from your eyes. Because once the stranger disappears from within me, the warmth returns and I see the almost smile on your face. In the calm crevices of a still heart, I see the birth of stars that promise life and peace. And in those moments I live a lifetime: a tale of you and me, meant to be. In those moments the poisonous chemicals I call doubt and fear and hatred cannot affect me. But they’re just moments, and what I feel is just a feeling.
If purity were the path to God, what would be the path to you? If only gentle fingertips could heal as the rain heals. If only soft breaths could heal like a cool summer breeze. I feel. But the feeling passes. I cannot hide from my demons. I can only face them when they wage war on me. I could breathe, I could live, and I could sleep, if you rested with me for a while. I wouldn’t leave; I wouldn’t be so empty, if you’d hold on. I’d hold on to you. I wouldn’t be inadequate. I wouldn’t be inappropriate. I would just dissolve into the air around you, and stay with you, and hold on to you.
But you’ll leave again. You will. I’ve lost you. Whatever makes you happy, whatever makes you whole; I bow down. Take my gift. Relish it. I can claim the word for my own before your critical eye. I am proud, but not mighty. You’re in my skin. You make me stronger, and I can kneel weakly before you when my battles are won. But you shall not accept it. Where shall I take this feeling? Will someone accept it?
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