eternal.

You instructed me to analyze every inch of your soul, to reveal the person you’ve been hiding away from the rest of the world but my eyes were weary and you were never a novel nor a novella, you, every inch of your beauty, are a piece of art and reds will always be red, and green will always be green, but you’re not the person to be coloring within the lines. You break boundaries with every step, unbound by the chains desperately lingering on you, placed by society and you ignore every rule, you’re a rebel hue that I can’t quite describe. So I’m going to attempt an analyzation, because your warmth is of crimson red but the beauty of cerulean, the grace of viridian and the royal aura of indigo. You have the fierceness of black, with the power you hold over my heart and soul and the kindness of white that can never be erased. Every mark you made on me will be eternal. Your permanence is unmatched and even if I  could just wash you away like a masterpiece finalized on disposable canvas, I want this feeling to linger until the end of days. I will color outside the lines, because rules were never meant to be followed.

It seems that my playlists are stuck in 2011, and I’m still drowning in the lonely hour, thinking of you one said that you’d leave your lover, but I’m not bitter, I’m better, and time was a fabled elixir yet at times I find myself dreaming of lego houses, thinking of times when I was so certain that we’d be building them together and these neighborhoods here aren’t blue, but I still feel the scars when I’m reunited with you, because wounds never truly disappear, they simply heal. If only fools rehash the past to once again fall for you, then I’m the epitome of folly, and it drives me wild to know that there were moments| that I saw no other future but ones with you, and these architectures are so tempting. Perhaps I could live in other homes, so I try and occupy these alternate places just to see, but I think it’s still inevitable, that you’re the one designed for me. These lego houses will never be dismantled, never torn down until the lonely hour subsides and dusk turns into dawn with you by my side, but Will such a reality ever exist? Foolish it may be, but I know that I’m never letting go of suburbia.

I find solace in beauty.  But I see my shortcoming now. A month ago, I sat on my glasses. I was blind for a week, reducing my vision to hues and blurs of a once-perfect world. I see now that I’ve been without sight for far longer than that.

give me the poison i’ve been longing for in solid form, in the form of your  beauty in the sunlight and at dusk

The sun sets every day now. How can I force myself to forget that with you, it shone eternally?

ever hang on to ropes that are already broken? calloused hands bleeding from the fiction, staring at the abyss that you’re destined to be in and the light from beyond is nothing more than death wearing a glow in the dark pendant to lure you in because there’s no salvation. didn’t you know that by now? the release is only through releasing your pain and it starts with a rope very similar to the one you already broke. this isn’t melodrama or hopelessness, it’s acceptance because sometimes you hurt more by holding on so it’s time to let go and face the unknown.

Time spent lingering on those thoughts are time wasted. I should have known from experience. I should have stayed away.

I can't complain much. I have a great life. I have my own bed, a good paying job, and a great career to look forward to. This shit should be enough for me content... So tell me why, in the late hours, does loneliness somehow overshadow everything I work hard for? The bare minimum isn't enough. I yearn for something that's so hard to find in this fucked up world. Fate deals me a hand but that hand already belongs to someone else. Countless times. It's exhausting to find someone that matches with every inch of your soul... but that someone is completely unattainable. Like why, cruel fucking deities, do you consistently show to me perfection if I don't even have a one percent chance? It's disgusting. It's happened too many times. Granted, I'm a man who's perfectly capable of handing shit on my own. I've always been independent. But this creeping loneliness is like venom. It doesn't discriminate. It doesn't give a shit about how you are as a person. How you feel about love. How much respect you have for yourself. Because this loneliness is breaking me down. But the sun comes up and a new day begins, and I find some way to leave it behind. When the night resurrects itself, the cycle begins anew. How much longer is this shit gonna go on?

At that moment I knew that the threat of the poison manifested itself as the most beautiful person. Your lips are tainted, is it mercury or radiation? Either way I desire the taste of the ultimate salvation. You are the poison, but you are also the remedy so I leap into the unknown, I will try to defy fate but I know that in the end, the poison will be the death of me.

My makeshift psychologist was an imaginary one and he told me to make a list of pretty things so that my soul would stop being crushed and I’d find the light once more. I thought about it how I should write about how waterfalls were so majestic and how clouds were like nature’s way of painting a picture and how stars were like fireworks from space. I would write down how I liked it when the rain would hit my windows and how it blurred the scenery outside. Pretty things, that's what I had to write down. But you aren’t pretty, you’re beauty in every sense. And your radiance exceeds a thousand suns, and there’s no canvas in existence that could paint an accurate representation of how much I adore every bit of you. There’s no scenery more breathtaking than your presence on a gloomy day and I realized that it isn’t much of a list that I made when your name is the only thing I’ve written down.

Could I tell you a secret? The most inappropriate thoughts in my head but in the most innocent of forms because I don't crave you in sinful ways I just admire the way you break through all sorts of boundaries and you refuse to fit into any stereotypes of society and your free spirit burns past all the bullshit and I believe that your hand may fit perfectly in mine and I believe that I could write a million words to tell you that I want to know your story, be a part of the chapter where our stories merge into one but that's not possible, is it? You're already the hero in someone else's novel, so I'll just keep this to myself and dream of a better ending where you and I somehow find each other but that's all it is, a dream deferred, an unrealized reality.

I like a challenge, let me lose my way in unfamiliar places and distort my sense of direction in paths not yet diverged to the untrained eye, let me find myself in territories not yet discovered by those do not seek its true value. In lush forests, I’ll mark my own exit to find that treasured scenery at the end. Do the trees hold your name, carved on its barks? Do the moss on them point the way to your heart? Living in this feeling of abandonment, but not lost because the destination is worth it all and it may not be simple hikes on this Earth but galaxies a million miles away and I don’t mind a thousand years worth of wandering, and you’re unexplored, untainted, undefined so let me find you and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find myself, too.