coffeeshop hero

there is rare novelty in a first kiss. the wonder. the chance. the energy and its pull. an indecision. vulnerability. a quest for courage. confidence. and that fateful strike. a rush of passion. a climactic beauty. enchantment. notes. music. and the heart’s flutter. there is something to be said about a fresh love’s entrancement of our souls. this soul charmer; this love astronaut has had so many firsts- indeed too many to even estimate. some were misplaced. fumbled. simply bad manners and too much to drink. but there were others. yes, there were others that were full of promise and purpose and intention. those that made me feel as though i had encountered a great world-sized lake and the entire moon-lit sky of my life reflected on its surface. the evening mists that rose were opium and lilac. and we had made a great all encompassing ripple on the entire canvas. fuck. nascent love can be so lovely. why do we grow up to become heart butchers and soul trappers? i do not know. don’t get it twisted, babe, i can play the game. i can leave you knotted, snared, and folded into an entanglement that even the most advanced escapologist would have trouble with. i can and i will. but i’d much, much rather be love’s infant dancing to the melody of my tragically beautiful and profound ignorance.
—  a first kiss story.
my heart is fickle.
in truth-
it’s not my heart at all.
it’s me.
my heart is loud
and boisterous in its needs
and its preferences.
but my ego
loves options.
so i feed it.
i feed it 
a rainbow
of fucking options.
i pick and choose.
pluck and play.
all the while
my heart crying
“no,
you fool.
no.“
—  no. // #love_is_black