Wading through these thoughts, feelings, thick and heavy like mud. I try - in vain - to find some semblance of reason, a deeper logic, perhaps, that remains ever elusive throughout this; the rabbit down the bunny hole of my mind.
Indescernable - a sadness real or imagined, and my efforts to examine it seem to perpetuate and further entrench me within this mire.

I don't know what I think or feel anymore.

I feel it like the heat on a hot summer's day. Overwhelming, sticky sweet and impossible to consider feeling anything other than the all-consuming intensity of love.

It's like broad brush strokes of tar all over my soul, so that you're there, inseparable from my whole self, least it tear me apart.

It just is. Just there, like something so integral to my being that it has become whole hearted, as implicit as breathing, living, being.

I pull back all of the layers.
the bravado,
the talk,
the words.
Everything.

Stripped back
bare,
- red raw -
pared down,
to what is innate,
what I know to be true.

And you.
Your name-
written in to me, 
over and over.
Written on my body,
naked of pretence,
your letters are etched in to my soul.

Image via ffffound

Loving her is like the morning dew - not crisp and cold, but refreshing and sweet; drops of candied sugar on each and every blade of grass before me. 

It is like clean sheets on a soft bed for an exhausted body; like the wonderment and possibility of what lies beyond a horizon thick with fog. 

It's like raindrops as the weather breaks, running for cover as we giggle and cling to one another in an effort to stay dry. 

It's like the smoke from burning incense, curling itself around the room and leaving its soft heady scent on all that it touches. 

It's like nothing else. And yet, heavy with warm familiarities and comforts,  loving her is like home. 

image via ffffound

I want you- naked in the morning light, skin soft under my fingers as I stroke your body and watch you sleep.

I want your arms wrapped around me, eyes wet with emotion, heart awash with love.

I want you there, by my side as I laugh and cry and rage, as our happiness carries us long in to the night, as our skin grows pale and thin, as our fingers search for one another in the darkness, as the sunlight sits warm on our faces.

I want you to kiss my forehead when I am ill, to laugh and run and play with me when we are well.

I want to cry in to your chest, weep softly as you pat me and reassure my worried heart.

I want passion- of a love unerring and a body insatiable.

And in return? 

I give you my heart, devoted and true. 

All the love you could ever hope for. 

Everything. 

The stars in the sky, the earth beneath our feet. 

Anything; all of it. 

And me.

The trouble with knowing too much

image via ffffound

Those frivolous, throw away comments- words that cannot be unsaid and thoughts that fester and seethe like an open wound on my soul. 

Perspective is such a worthwhile ally; one whose presence is not felt often enough by me, whose words of caution are ignored in favour of alarming, fearful ideas that creep and hide in the corners of my mind, spreading their insidious tendrils of insecurity and fear until I am paralysed; overcome.

What was said cannot be unsaid, what is known cannot be unknown.

And so I lie here, questioning every one, every thing, every thought uttered, every feeling expressed.

I am aware that I am my own undoing, that I lay myself bare, skin pale and vulnerable, and willing to accept whatever is given.

Those feelings, these ideas, the words you once said, what of them?

smoke and mirrors

image from this flickr found via this tumblr

I'm not accustomed to love.

To feeling it, giving it, pining for it and, at times, yearning for it to leave me in peace; I am more than well acquainted.

But to experience love, love as it is given, and love as a mutual, wholehearted and shared experience, I am unaccustomed.

This is not to say that I have never, ever been loved before.

Certainly, those whom I have loved or have been involved with in the past may have loved me, but this was not love in all its great wondrous, unencumbered and almost unwieldy glory; this was love as a small, contained and conditional gift. A heart-shaped gesture of affection from someone to whom I have been unconditionally devoted; to whom I have unconditionally loved.


Thus, the premise of friendship  throws up walls against the reciprocation of my feelings. I lose myself, so much of me, and so willingly, to the other. And they, by the by, continue to remain, as they were, maintaining the status quo of themselves and their emotions and only lightly acknowledging the depth and intensity of the sea within which I am drowning.

This seems ridiculous; why fall in love with people who do not reciprocate these affections? This is a question I ask myself frequently; and am yet to discover an answer.

Numerous axioms and adages seem appropriate here; the grass is always greener, love the one you're with, plenty more fish in the sea... it is alarming how unimaginative people are in their efforts to console other (irrespective of how true any of these sayings may be). What cannot seem to be answered, however, or find an appropriately blithe retort to, is the question that has plagued me throughout my adult (and somewhat not-quite-an-adult) years.

Why?

Why me?

Why do I yearn so long for that which I cannot have?

Is love some kind of holy grail, that I am destined to spend my years searching for, only to perish on its discovery?

And if I think I have love now (god-willing, I do) will I squander it in my efforts to retain it, being as unaccustomed as I am to any kind of reciprocal emotion?

talk.

image via fffound

That you may say you are there for me, that you'll hurt anyone that hurts me, and other similar claims of protection and loyalty, means so very little to me now.

I believed you for a moment, that you really were genuinely interested in my own emotional well being and happiness...until I realised that you were drinking and laughing with the person that hurt me, left me vulnerable, broken and raw. Took what I had to give and gave... nothing... in return.

And this was when I realised your words were hollow; straw monuments built up to fill yourself and anyone within earshot with your self-importance and devotion, and blown over at the first hint of a breath of a challenge.

Gone.

from here

Talk of loyalty and allegiance is just that; talk.

Our real dedication is evidenced not in what or who we tell people we are - hiding behind our bravado and grandiose claims - but in what we do, and whether or not we are there for those that we hold dear.

Especially in their hour of need.