Late Night Writer

You used to inspire poetry. Songs I thought meant so much. Metres that you criticized and dismissed after a single reading. Silly, vapid verses that they were, I merely mine them for meaning now. What do I write about you now? Nothing. You don't inspire me anymore.

A Thought

First kisses are fascinating things. You never quite see anyone the same after your lips have met and you’ve felt their soft, wet tongue slipping between your parted lips, their sharp teeth so gentle yet insistent, pushing aside your hesitation until you reciprocate and softly explore the curves of those lips and the damp recesses of their mouth. That is, in itself, intimacy. The first kiss is what I believe to the most intimate moment of a person’s life: it is the first time you let down your gaurd and act upon desire; it is the first time you let someone in, both physically and mentally, creating a bond that will be so much harder to break than anything you’ve yet shared. The first kiss creates every subsequent embrace and all the webs of sweetly tangled feelings that go along with them. First kisses are not magic. First kisses are a force of nature.

Reunited at last​ and it feels like I imagine heaven does.

There will come a time when you realize that when she says 'you idiot' in that tone, with that smile and that laugh it translates to ' I love you' and means more than any other combination of words. Count yourself lucky, you idiot.

You are my yellow paint; my happy place; my refuge and shelter from the raging storm that is my own soul, the calm and steady voice in the darkness. You are warmth and all wanting satisfied. You are a healing hand on a broken heart; you are a soft and gentle breeze. You are my darling: you are my Sunshine.

Trust is a paradox. It implies that it can be broken. Therefore in order to trust anyone first relies upon the fact that you mistrust them, but are willing to hand them an infinite number of possibilities to hurt you. Without that risk, trust cannot exist, and without trust love cannot live.

You smiled. Damn. I want to see that more often. Preferably daily. Across the breakfast table from me.

I don't even know why you want me, why you chose me. And I really mean that, because I'm not a very nice person: I'm torn between hating and loving everyone. I can be quite horrible to people. I'm a big, twisted, messed up ball of confusion and what I think are good intentions. And that scares me. It scares me that I don't even now how to treat half the people I know. That sometimes I want to scream, 'screw you!' to the whole world and then other times I just want to hug all these crazy creatures that make up humanity. I'm just not sure how to show you that sometimes I am not the sweet little girl you chose first; sometimes I'm just a person who cannot help but break things but loves you just the same and wants to be chosen just as much.

The day after I told you just how I felt about you, the snow fell in mounded drifts of otherworldly white. The day you said 'I love you,' the air was full of swirling flakes but you, my darling, you were made of pure magic.

Spring slid into summer and I found, quite unexpectedly, that I loved you; fall fell away to winter and in your arms I naturally found myself.

So you hit the lights and I'll lock the doors Let's say all of the things that we couldn't before Won't walk away, won't roll my eyes They say love is pain, well darling, let's hurt tonight If this love is pain, then honey let's love tonight