Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
what do I tell you?
which story? how do I tell you that my mind has been capitalizing you? it has already thought of ways to blend your eyes and feed it to me so I could see the world the way you do. you once said you still have the pen you were gifted to as a child by that old man because he appreciated you buying medicines for your mother. how do I tell you that I love your mind, so unlike mine? how do I tell you every love story in my mind has failed, that I have been callous for too long and every word of yours sounds hopeful to me? so, which story do I tell you? I have only painted lovers that say no matter what language, you speak of love and it will be translated to demolition.
Our afternoon is filled with porcelain dreams, the kind we store in jars, the kind we know is probably not meant for us to have in this world.
I don't love you. How do I? There are dreams we think we are too small for.
