Friday, July 24, 2015

Friday, July 24, 2015
"Do you love him?" you asked quietly, the words heavy on your lips like they caused you pain.
"His words are soft and sweet, I could listen to them all day." I answered with a lazy smile across my face.
"But do you love him?" you asked again. It came out stronger this time, as if you were prepared for the answer, even though you knew it could break you into a million jagged little pieces.
"He makes me smile, makes me forget how screwed the world is. He talks good, and funny, and we have same interest on things, we have really good connection." I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I envisioned his smile, his laugh, his soft voice coming in my ear.
"You're not answering my question. Do you fucking love him?" you all but shouted this time. You needed an answer, you needed something to give you closure.

"No, goddammit. No." I yelled, frustrated at the storm of a guy with the butterscotch hair. "No I dont fucking love him. He helps me forget, but he doesn't drive me crazy. He doesn't make me want to try harder until years in front for us to be closer so we can have more intimacy. We never argue. With him it's easier than it ever was with us, I never fall asleep with tears. He's nice, and sweet, but perfect in every way." I paused for a moment and realised my words bring tears to the eyes of the broken soul living inside of my body.
"But he's not you." I continued. "I don't love him. How can I when I'm so stupidly, insatiably, completely and utterly in love with you. Is that what you wanted to hear?" and I break myself into a million jagged little pieces.

words I wish I could tell you, when you asked if I liked him.

Monday, July 20, 2015

She was in Love

Monday, July 20, 2015
"She fell in love with a little piece of everyone. Be it the way they walked or the way they talked, or the way their eyes sparkled blue like the sea. It could have been the way they smiled with every single one of their teeth, or the way their brow crinkled when they were lost in thought. Maybe that was why she gave everyone slices of herself, hoping that they’d cherish that bit of her the way she cherished them. Even when that meant she had nothing left to give, except her love. But it also meant that she was never alone because people were drawn to her, or rather to what she saw in them, like moths to a flame."