I didn’t realise how your fingertips were caressed with callousness from a previous past time until they met my own. I didn’t realise the summer left its unforgettable mark not just on your olive skin, but in the form of another girl. Two days ago I looked into your eyes for the first time and I sank. Your glasses weren’t there to protect me from drowning, but I’ve recently realised I’d rather drown by loving you than swim. Saints kiss your neck every day and night but if I had a choice, it would be me instead. I thought being devoured by others would lessen the grip you have around my heart, but it only tightened; they were and never could be you. It breaks me that we protected our heads/hearts with a cloud of intoxication to revel in the desire we craved for months. And all that’s left of the temptation we caved into is distant, drunken memories of what your skin felt like, and what it just might have been like had the timing been right. How can it be that every day, saying goodbye is hardest when I know you’ll always be going home to her?
You somehow helped her move on from her first love by morphing into her second.
I prefer white noise to silence.
Because the emptiness of silence is enough to suffocate me.
I like knowing that there’s something there.
Not just an abyss of deafening nothingness.
A masterpiece is still a masterpiece in an empty room.
A masterpiece will not become less of a masterpiece with the lights out.
A masterpiece will not cease to be a masterpiece, even if no one admires all it stands for.
Those who don’t feel this love pulling them like a river, those who don’t drink dawn like a cup of spring water, or take in sunsets like supper, those who don’t want to change; let them sleep. This love is beyond the study of theology, that old trickery and hypocrisy. I, you, want to improve your mind that way, sleep on. I’ve given up on my brain. I’ve torn the cloth to shreds, and thrown it away. If you’re completely naked, wrap your beautiful robe of words around you, and sleep.
If only our eyes saw souls instead of bodies; how very different our ideals of beauty would be.