home

I look at you and wonder how someone can beat the ease of the wind. For someone who portrays them self as a wound to the world, you walk with remarkable grace. I look at your arms, oh God, they remind me of velvet clouds. and as tempting as it is to jump right into them, I have this urge to plunge the depths of my chest, curl my fingers around my trembling heart and strip it entirely from these strings, to be carefully placed in the palm of your coarse hands. I waive my right to apologize for every gaze into your lucid eyes, but they have become my favorite place to visit. i search for peace in your vaults of heaven swirled into a grassland, just to marvel at the sunset you`ve been hiding beneath your vessel. no wonder you never cease to fill me with warmth. and for the longest time I thought it was the gates of your smile, but it was the melody of your vocal cords that brought back that remembrance of where home actually is.

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Rose

out of this bouquet of flowers, your rosy cheeks charmed the attention of these baby blues.

though beauty is in the way you carry those flaws, I more fell in love with the roots you grew from.

and despite the fact that your walls consisted of thorns to protect that halo, i still held you with my bare hands and by far, you were the best pain my body has felt.

eyes closed, i plunged into a world where pulse understood vibration much as my heart burned on fire.

my soul ached and healed at the same time.

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you are my favorite shade of blue.

and as you walked into my world, you brought a spectrum in the center of your palm.

first time standing parallel to your deity, nervous struck my body but somehow your voice managed to shatter the stillness of silence in my mind and your laugh played like a violin to my ears.

i could never put in picture, but the resilience of flowers remind me of your backbone.

with bewildered eyes, time slips through frail fingertips that are scared to no longer hold you and slowly, watch you descend into my pocket of amnesia.

my heart hurts to hug goodbye, for i am not ready to welcome blurred vision behind eyelids which will form watercolor to solitary days.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

formed watercolors in

 

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