Untitled II

And I couldn't stand to look into his dark, deep eyes so I hid but it was all a game to him and so unbearably cute but I really couldn't stand it. And he was so playful and I adore him and miss that part of my life (which is probably why I reminisce so much I suppose). Embarrassed? No, not at all. Impressing? I'm trying as hard as I can to hide that I'm trying.  I get to be the me I wanna be with him and I can be a kid (like he told me I could be) and stress free. Like biting and running around like we're the only ones on the ground and jumping up and down as if at any moment a star could be ours. But I could have a grown conversation and I feel like I'm wrapped in happiness in his world. Only to soon find out I'd be quickly unwrapped from any kind of happiness and left out in the cold...

J.

An Unexpecting Victim

An unexpecting victim
of the powerful stream of love.
I drank from it.
I can't tell if it's potion or poison.
Maybe one day I'll know.
More of the water exuding through the pores of my skin.
Basking in the sunshine of happiness.
Bathing in the love.
Until the leaves start changing colors.
And the stream freezes over.
An unexpecting victim
in a dark alley of twists and wrong turns.

The winds of feelings and change.

Flowing through my hair.

The line from that song..

"your hair looks so good over my shoulder"

playing slowly in my head.

Pictures of my hair over your shoulder dancing through my mind.

Like the leaves dancing around the stream.

An unexpecting victim

of these goosebumps I'm getting.

I can't tell if it's the cold from the frozen stream seeping through the soles of my shoes

or the thought of you, in all of your wonder and amazement.
Everything I wish I could see in my reflection when I look into the stream,

I see when I look at you.

I feel you when you look at me.

Something I've been missing.

An unexpecting victim

of happiness brought by thee.
And you let the stream sweep you off your feet;
not expecting to be a victim
until you hit the rocks.
And then everything hits you.
But you're mind is like the gizzard of a bird.
Filled with rocks. Trying to digest everything.
But humans don't have that.
So it doesn't work.
Try hydrogen peroxide; your parents lied to you.
IT STINGS.

J.

Momentary Mute Messages

The "OMG! What on earth is he talking about!?" in a terrified kind of way. With the "Eek! I have no idea (but I'm secretly [yet completely obviously] glad I'm not you)." conversation in about ten tremendously loud heartbeats with solely our eyes across wet rags and soap suds. Or the "I LOVE YOU! Say something." and the unreadable (so maybe it's just wishful thinking), "You know. And you know the deal." blank stare. Followed by the fishtale headspin the human brain is painfully capable of because that deal was never agreed upon. All within the split seconds of my slightly delayed (yet still fairly quick) reflexes that make my neck snap around the moment the chance arrives after meeting your beautifully cold eyes. And the "Can't you see I'd just like you to leave now?" glare which is entirely a one-sided conversation for it's obviously not reciprocated. Or let's go for the looking down because you're trying to hold back tears but desperately trying to send an ESP message with "-.-. .- -. / -.-- --- ..- / .--. .-.. . .- ... . / .--- ..- ... - / .... --- .-.. -.. / -- ." which reads just like that because they never get the message. Maybe it's the "I really adore you and I know my eyes can't smile but if they could they would be grinning. I like this." while your mind is racing like a Nascar driver at Daytona. And all you can see back is "You're cute. *twinkle*twinkle*" which is nice but.. Well, but. Mostly it's the messages behind your own eyelids that are so unclearly clear. I know that doesn't make sense and if you think that it does, you're wrong because it doesn't. It's not supposed to make sense. The loudest silent messages are the ones we always never want to hear. And the ones we laugh about crying about. Along with the ones we smile at while our heart is shattering into a gazillion small huge pieces. Those messages.


J.