Just something worth scribbling down...
2007-09-04 - 11:29 p.m.
I hope you enjoyed our anniversary, hon. I hope I didn't ruin it for you. I hope your dreams are beautiful and lovely and filled with ivory and gold.
Old Words:
What's your ring size, love? I want to tell you forever without saying a word, and I think all the wordless glances are communicating for me. If this is love, it's illuminating my eyes, once muted and dark. I will give you the life you always did desire; better yet, I'll give you the life you always did deserve.
It isn't easy collecting wild briar roses, but I'll scoop every single bud if it will draw me ever closer to the realest source of beauty I've been known to recognize.
I know I'm not stupid, and I swear I haven't been sleeping my whole life, but sometimes, it hits me that I could have lost this.
I have surrendered for lesser things, yet, with this, I cannot survive if I am made to dangle the white flag and admit defeat.
Please let me struggle through in order to see the much fabled light around the corner. This might sound cliché, but you really are everything to me.
Don't forget you saved me.
***
Talks of you so good I'll be drunk all summer. They say this is just jamais vu, and I taste the whispers dying in their throats.
***
I found you lying under my bed where all my secrets come untangled like a monster. I offered, but you winced like pain, and sorrow seared your tones.
I died on the curb on the run, blisters were friendly, and monsters kept holding me all night until pains tossed pouring down window sills like waiting.
Went to the store to buy something to cure these headaches, ran into an old freind. It hurt like agony. When he swore he'd call, I pretended not to hear and continued to look for the fix.
Now, I'm paralyzed to the memory, and paralysis is hard to get over.
When she tells me secrets, it makes me sort of wonder: would my secrets fold to an origami dove or frog?
I can't say I'm original or even unique, but even these words are scraps of denim that fit me.
***
He renders me hit or miss, and I suppose he's right.
They've been spreading rumors about me since they found my razor love note in a heap next to lighter fluid kisses and good night moon.
Let's hear it for the monsters; I feel quite alright. When you ask how this all works, it makes me want to tear all things apart and stare at the core like an unwound baseball.
This love is a scribble because no one knows I can't draw. After that, we'll wash over her tears with water color so at least one person's pain is pretty, and I'm not so clumsy with the break.
They said me loving her was letting the figurative bull in the figurative China shop. I don't think I've shattered any tea sets, maybe broken a couple tea cups (only busted a few teeth) .
I'm sorrying the rose petals, loosening the blackened blooms. Hence the soot on my fingertips whenever you (I) cry. I let you down, and I'm sorry.
Dear Diary, You're too pretty to lie.
***
Me.