Pen and Paper or Otherwise

i was convinced that i loved him, until i met you. and i was convinced that i loved you until i met someone new. then i was convinced that i loved me, and gee how that set me free. but i was only convinced that i loved me, until i met him. and now it’s glass shards on a gravel floor, me learning to love me again.

I met you when I needed you the most when I needed a guardian angel to show me all of the good when I was blinded by evil  to love every inch of me when I forgot to love myself and to protect me from the danger within my own mind

And then one student said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can’t even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you’re almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. And it’s that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what’s warm - whether it’s something or someone - toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being sad in the world and ready for sleep, that’s happiness.

take me back to the ocean water splashing my ankles and returning to its home to soft, dry sand tickling my toes and floating along the shore to broken seashells biting the soles of my feet enticing me to keep them as a souvenir in my pocket to the footsteps in wet sand and the water that invades them erasing any trace of my existence on this shore.

I want to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you. I want to ride in the swing of your hips. My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks, blazing your limbs into parts of speech.