#11612

Source: Where is that remote? | logi BLOG (logitech.com)

I can’t believe we are here 1 year and 8 months. It’s been a long time coming baby but I’m glad we are still going strong. Our relationship isn’t perfect at all. We went thru some shit any girl would of probably wouldn’t have taken. But I know everything happens for a reason. I love you with every bit that I have in me. Many more anniversaries to come ❤

I want to be a star,  Tiny to the human eye,  Quiet, and radiant; combustable and ever present.   I want to appear at your darkest hours. light up the darkest caverns in the corner of your soul. I'll disappear when the dusty morning light kisses your shivering eyelids. BC 2012 

careless emotions, coiled in your rosemary sheets textual euphoria, melodic dispensation, writing, recording, regretting, craving, forgetting. you are the epitome of quiescent creativity, surrounded by ephemeral stone walls. I am bitter like black coffee in the morning, but you are sweet like two AM tea during a storm. BC2012 

Burning fingertips, under scorching glares Impossible stone facades, and my withering state.  I'm about as solid as a paintbrush after years of steady work Wearing my words and metaphors, but I still feel naked Ugly bones, and deserted dreams being hidden under a pretty face Wretched throat, sore of screams Nightmares, both asleep and awake, suffocation.  BC 2012  

Tell me, why don’t we embrace our failures the way we embrace the very last drop of toothpaste on a Sunday morning. We hide them away in a dungeon underneath scars and childhood scabs. They rot, and our rancid minds forget. We only want to remember the loveliest of days, and the muggy days that trapped us. We want to be enveloped in happiness, like a star getting almost as big as the sun. We grow and blossom, and when it’s time to look back on how we bubbled up, we only think of star studded nights, and awarding sunsets. No one thanks their scars and impatience, no one thinks about their scars and childhood scabs. No one dares to mention their dungeons, filled to the brim with failure and disappointment. Why do we paint our lives as ice cream filled summer rainbows. Tell me why no one remembers the rain before the rainbow. BC 2012