The Bookish Owl

i leave echoes for you in the moonlight. (i love you i love you i love you)

I’m not the girl your mother warns you about. I won’t kiss your best friend or break your heart. I won’t make you choose between what you love to do & me. I’m not cold. I’m not reckless. I’m the girl your father mentions when your mom’s not around. I’m the girl that gets away. I will love you more than anything. I will kiss you when you cry. I will stand by your side until you decide otherwise. And you’re just like your father, so you will. You’ll let me go & I won’t look back, But you will. I promise you, you will. I’m that girl.

Life has knocked me down a few times. It showed me things I never wanted to see. I experienced sadness and failures. But one thing for sure, I always get up.

she’s bobby pins on the bathroom floor, strands of hair tangled between bed sheets. she’s scraped up knees and chipped fingernails. she’s brown eyes and velvet lashes, smacked lips and tied tongues. she’s baby faced and too smart for her own good. she’s hiding in the shadows of your heart, watching from afar, she’s not the girl you made your star. she’s thumbs against your cheeks, wiping away tears cried for someone else. she’s swallowed words and hidden feelings, silent nods and fake smiles. she’s watched you come alive while she’s lied down and died. she’s been there, she’s always been there. she’s the girl you’ll start to love when it’s too late.

“Where does the pain go?” She said, “where does it go when you cover it with time– when you let time take it away.” He tells her it goes where you keep your heart safe in. “It might go to the person you love next–if that’s where you keep your heart safe– and that person will hurt by your old pains; it might go to your art– the way you write, the way you speak, the way you paint or draw– whatever. It’s where you put your heart into- your pain into.” “Why can’t it just go away– fly away from me, disappear.” “It’s not something bad; heartbreak– all that pain– that’s life, a living work of art in the making. When you think you’re dreaming, what do you do? You pinch yourself to wake up, to come back, to know if you’re alive and real– you don’t just ride through the dream because that stuff is just wishes and hopes; nothing gets done, it’s all empty blank like a fresh canvas; but pain is real because it’s life– an experience that you got to travel through. Please don’t throw it away, archive them in art.“

E vorrei tornare indietro per fermare quell'istante.