love thoughts

I’m in your bed.
I should probably call my mother and tell her I slept with the devil.

You rub circles on my back and trace over my scars as if you know why each one happened.
You’re so wrong for me because you think you can fix me.
You think a couple of cold showers and sex filled nights can fill this abyss in me.

You’re in my bed. I didn’t think you’d spend the night.
You said I love you for the first time last night and I pretended to be asleep.
I don’t rub circles on your back when you sleep and I don’t memorize they way you breathe like I used to.

I thought this was just a fling, something we just had to do.

Now you’re talking about the war and how you can’t wait to have your whole life figured out, how you can’t wait to ‘live’ to really 'feel alive’.

I do not tell you that I just can’t wait to be able to wear short sleeves and not feel self conscious.
I do not tell you that I just can’t wait to be able to sleep through the night.
I do not tell you that I just can’t wait to be in love with someone the way you’re in love with me.

I’m in your bed.
I should probably call my mother and tell her I slept with an angel.

—  Sometimes opposites attract by (KJ)

I love you the way Pollock must have loved a blank canvas
Full of endlessly possibility.
These feelings have such velocity.
Like paint splattering on paper
A gesture so grand it started a movement.

I love you the way Rothko envelopes your soul
The color swallows you whole
And you can’t find the edges
Or the beginnings
Just fields of here and now.

I love you the way Van Gogh
Adored the perfect shade of yellow
Your eyes are his sunflowers
Always facing me
Seeking out my warmth.

I love you the way Monet captures tranquility
Which I didn’t quite grasp
Til the first time I held your hand
And you told me to be there with you
Nowhere else.

I love you the way Magritte makes you think.
A treachery of feelings.
Telling it how it is.
Ceci n'est pas un poème.
This is a grand gesture.

—  allegory pt. 1 by c.r.

First breathe.

Draw in a deep breath slowly, like it is not poison.

Now breathe out slowly, steady that rush which is making your eyes blurry, that is making your hands shake. For this moment, pretend the words never escaped his lips. Later you will remember them in a tear soaked dream, but for now, you need to hold your broken heart together, even if it is ripping at the seams.

Do not give him your tears.

He doesn't deserve them, because if he did, he would not be leaving you, like this right now.  Later, you will cry.

But right now, baby, all you have to remember to do is breathe.

—  What to do When He Tells You He Is Leaving | Nikita Gill

You asked me what I wanted, and at the time I couldn’t have told you.
But now that I think about it, I think I can tell you now.

I wanted you to compliment me without a prompting,
I wanted you to think I was beautiful.
I wanted you to think about me at all.
I wanted you to send me things that reminded you of me,
to hold me when I cried,
to run your fingers through my hair and kiss my forehead.
I wanted your attention, even when prettier, funnier, kinder people were begging for you.
I wanted you to choose me.
I wanted you to love me.

Hell, I think I still want that now.

—  retrospect, (6/2/15)
The Decline Of Sepia

Delilah’s scissors, safe from Florence, are
In the museum—beside some mastodon fossil;
They speak about superstitious epilogues and
Catapult at perceiver; they struggle to split his
Spectrum methodically via iodine-brown shutter

Click; flash of picture filter machination, narcissist
Clones pursue ways to steal them, for dupery is our

Still essence; hair fabric: gullible Samson marred;
The negatives, we presume, have finite deception

But you see, I crave you in a way that’s not sexual.. It’s more mental. I crave the way you care, the way you make me happy. I crave your touch.. I crave being able to sleep with you. Again not sexual. Just lay their with our arms and hands and legs intertwined .. And just fall asleep. I crave you in so many ways. And people ask why it’s impossible to fall out of love… Why don’t you try craving something every single day, and not being able to get it. It slowly drives you insane. -C.G.