Maybe the reason why we felt it or went through it, isn’t as important as why we have to let it go.
I have been waiting for my pen to turn into a wand
waving it across these pages
my ink like a trail of magic
tears of joy hitting the page like stardust,
I’ve been searching the dictionary for rhymes and words.
Am I a child to believe that pointing it between these lines would bring you close to me?
that my love holds enough magic to make my words into spells that would draw you back to me?
I’ve have been begging the moon to read you my letters,
I say “tell him to fetch my heart ”
“tell him I’ve been dreaming of him”
I’ve been folding these pages of failed words into ships
hoping the rivers formed by my tears would give them passage to you.
I’ve been missing you. I’ve grown tired of running
So, I am making this pen into a wand
I’m writing my love into spells in these lines
My love is magic. I am calling you back to me.
some things are too much of a coincidence to not be magic..
How does it feel to kill yourself from the inside
To hold your heart in your own first and tighten till the oxygen seeps out
The gulp when you realise it might be your last breath
Love is but a leash tightened around the neck of our souls capable of leading us to safety
But instead, we pull in the wrong direction
Leashes turn to nooses
I’m looking for you
Reaching for you
But love has me standing on a stool
And every time you leave
it’s like my heart inches to kick the chair.
Don’t you know all the things we risk to fall in love?
It’s never as simple of a jump as it seems
You are a collapsing galaxy.
The sky is birthed by your triumph to survive.
Living is not just the adventure
Maybe breathing is enough when you have given the world to much
My bookshelf much resembles my heart.
It’s filled with stories I had hoped to read and titles I have loved from afar.
I am always too busy to start a book. I’m always too afraid to read.
As if each page may reveal a part of me I was trying to pretend wasn’t real.
I’m made of plot twist and contradiction. I’m sometimes a heavy read.
My shelf has so many books I’m yet to complete
As if I’m hiding from knowing the end. I’m escaping the loss
Like friends, these pages have become to me.
I ‘ve never been good at goodbyes. I’m never good at endings.
I’m always avoiding the last page.
There are so many books I’d wished to never read
and yet they still managed to teach me the world.
My bookshelf resembles my heart.
Filling with Dust but as wide as the world
I need to read more.
I need to try love more
Isn’t it funny the things you start to miss when you sit quietly for to long,
The faces you start sketch
The tears you start to taste
I was told stories of forevers growing up
I only ever find myself saying goodbye.