1.3.17 A.D
Purple lipstick, rosy cheeks, breathing in freshly printed pages. Your eyes will open and close, until they are no longer blue, a calm Caribbean; unknown to tidal waves.
Abstract indie record is playing somewhere in the background. We bonded over books and songs written on our sleeves. The sound of your hello's made flowers grow in the coldest, most desolate parts of myself. The plants gravitate towards your light. I showed you new books, and you showed me new songs. A book for a song, voices to capacity's limits, I felt i'd belonged in your company.
You'd heard me, when I had not said a word. You see me, when I'm barely visible. Just before the days over, I see you again. You ask me things I have not been asked in years You'd always want to hear how my day went.
You still believe in pinky promises. You'd memo the things you'd promise, like a child who insists on sleeping with every stuffed animal off the shelf; fearing that if only just one felt left out, it wasn't okay. Ensuring that each and every single one felt loved and remembered, you taught them selfless love in the most pure form. You taught me it is okay to still be soft in a hardened world and sometimes, when the world gives you lemons, it is not out of bitter haste.
YOU ARE READING
The Other Person Project
Poetrythe answer is yes. it will always be yes. you will always be the words. [(format) This originally started as a secret project I took on senior year, in high school. I wanted to write a poem about every single person in my class, eventually it becam...
