An idea.
Stated words.
It's definitely crazy but you got more than what you wished for. More than you can handle without [glass breaks, a baseball drops on the floor] oh, crud. Let me get that.
Clumsy, clumsy I am
so very clumsy I'm sorry.
And then you get a little familliar with the way they turn their head, the way they think, which books they read and the things they don't talk about.
And those little minutes in which they make complete and utter fools of themselves and you still never have enough.
The comfort in having them near and the eyes that try to speak what words cannot, they mean much more than a little (even if they think you don't catch on or didn't catch the meaning).
The warmth of their being through the walls you had built supposedly, it finds a way into your head like
the small glances which make you very, very,
very aware of you controlling, reining in your own staggered breathing,
And that people talk about you, who
happen to catch a see of the sad ghosts in your closets,
the monsters in the aching void you struggle to keep your back towards and you
start seeing yourself through the eyes of a stranger you might have seen before and
suddenly the haven you thought you had has turned into a house of strange people and doleful, complicated workings.
It's all an accident. No, wait.
I..
What I'm trying to say is I-
you're really beautiful and this is [beautiful],
as in, so much the more easier to kill. I don't want to touch this now while it is so easy to break.
YOU ARE READING
Hartaches and Larksongs
PoetryElements. ◮ Feebleheart ◮ Of Former Things (Ode To The New) ◮ Hecate and Rosendy ◮ You're A Fire Because I Say So ◮ Time (A Song) ◮ Us Cold People (Were Once Not) ◮ To a dame ◮ Star-eyed Loves ◮ 1/2 From A Boy's Viewpoint (There's This One Girl) ◮ 2...
