I remember when I wrote this and they way that I didn't know exactly how I was feeling at the time but as soon as I started writing it all just tumbled out and everything begun to make sense to me in a way that it never had previously. This isn't magnificent and probably doesn't mean much to anyone else, but it would still be one of my favourite pieces that I have ever written.
I have a sympathetic heart and a disagreeing head, and perhaps this is where my troubles lie. I meet people who make my entire world stop with the magic they share, whispering secrets so quietly that I have to lean my ear closely, as if I may let this golden moment escape into the ungrateful universe otherwise. I don't know what these people are to me but I never want to stop figuring it out. I so desperately want to be whatever they need me to be that somewhere along the line I wind up noticing everything about them, like the way the sun falls across the lines in their face or the constellations of freckles collected on their left shoulder blade that I forget to notice myself. We are fooling ourselves, trying to forgive people for the feelings they have stolen. But even the saddest stars never stop burning and so I keep my smile as deep as the red in my favourite wine and erase my regrets. I would listen to you until the darkened nights break into dawn, until my ears deafened and my eyes crawled to a close. I would fall asleep to the constant hum of your thought and lessons because you are just as beautiful as what you have taught me about life.
I am tongue-tied and wide-eyed and aware that not much of what I write translates meaning to anyone else. I notice so god damn much about everyone else, like the thoughts you throw away on Monday morning and I wonder if anyone else sees these raw moments that make everything else seem so much less translucent. I want to be proud for the things that I have done, strong for the things I am doing and hopeful for the things that I will do, but I just don't know how. I am often quiet these days, and I need you to know that when I am not talking I am feeling. It is not that I am cold, nor am I stone because I feel things too. I feel the emptiness and questioning of being here and not understanding why just like I feel the fullness and contentment of those moments that make me feel that I belong, and that somehow in this mixed up universe, there was a reason I landed myself here. I don't know how I manage to feel so together, yet so fucking broken at the same time and I constantly wait for the moment where the fragments of my life will bluster up like the glass I shattered on the kitchen floor last night.
My head is a messy place and sometimes writing is all that has ever made sense to me. I love a lot of people that have left my life quicker than they arrived and perhaps it is because I can't seem to transcend my feelings in practice as well as they flow into written words, or maybe it was because up until today I never considered the length I was willing to go to stop these people drifting between my fingers, like grains of sand lost in the wind. I do not want to play with sand anymore, I am playing for keeps.
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