I want to smile crinkly-eyed smiles that genuinely reach my eyes. I don’t want to be coloured pretend. I want the inflow of doubts that pour out in hurricanes whenever I speak to stop. I want a drought of insecurities.
I want not to avoid conversations and tell lies in hopes of hiding under covers all day. I want to love the day, feel streams of light– hearted conversations, make memories my tan, get sun kissed by too much laughter. I want to place fingertips on trees and love the day just as much as I’ve come to befriend the blanket of the night. I want to learn to love the shade of the clouds just as I love the distant shine of the stars.
I want to drink in glasses of deep conversations without spilling self-hate all over me. Can I spill self worth and love over both of us instead? I’m tired of drowning in my own thoughts; I want not to have waves of past exits hit me before I even drift to hello.
I don’t want to be red with fear and puffy eyed from being in bed all day. I want wrinkly hands from holding on– to the shower of our words mixing together because it was too enthralling to leave. Because the warmth of our hugs seeped into my skin.
I want to be raw of true emotion and reflect colours of joy, because perhaps I’ll have learned to swim in these waters by then. I want not to drip despair, but to leave puddles of inspiration, leading to oceans of more.
I want to witness the colour of real, because life in only shadows as home is no life of living.
