they should tell you not to fall in love with a writer
they will leave an imprint on you
so catastrophic, so damaging, so horrific
you will never know what exactly hit you
it's only fair for this to happen, considering every waking moment of split time together in a universe of ticking clocks and disappearing innocence is written down, recording in the heart of a soul
mine
you had no idea
the lines of your silhouette, the dripping honey eyes that melted into my lips and poisoned my veins to be cursed of the shadow of you
the softness of your hair, feeling more like home than my own body
an ache birthed from the glow of your face, an ache crafted and beaten from the trumpets that echoed out of your laughter; sweet, sweet noise, and sometimes if I'm lucky, caused by my own humor
an ache for the disappearing innocence that you returned to me, made me whole again from shattered pieces drilled into by fragments of society that killed us all, returned to me was someone who I didn't know was missing
how could you so perfectly
fit me?
and music, oh my god, the music
you come alive
not at first, slowly
in the base of the tune like the rhythms of your heartbeat, the soft strums of the guitar like that time your hands brushed past mine, the gentle whistle of the lyrics that makes waves of you materialize inside that silly head of mine
that's when I knew I loved you
when every song I listened to
I thought
was created just for us
I don't know what I am to you but in my mind and in my soul I yearn for a taste of that type of love, or whatever you'd like to call it
happy, sunshine love
as long as I'm yours
because that is the type of wrecking ball and heavy heart throb material people like me search for to write about
a soul sweeping whirlwind of a storm that you and me are, but safely tucked in the blankets of a warm, warm house to watch the rain from a distance
the cold world to keep out
we would never let it get to us
so that is why you must never fall in love with a writer
because you will never fade from existence
never escape the words on a page
the existence of you forged by beautiful poetry and scorching life of a tortured mind since whenever I touched your skin my finger tips would dance and never rest still because they knew they found whatever it was they were made to hold
you
you will regret falling in love with a writer
you will stumble upon those words and ponder
of a language so complex that could be born out of their head; just to explain loving you in different ways
and as I write this I get scared
because
is this too soon?
I act as if I'm falling in love with you
and I'm afraid
I'm afraid of this type of love to bloom
and consume
maybe they should tell a writer not to fall in love
with you
