Lately, I've been staying up all night
Wide awake in bed, hearing
Voices, wildly howling at the moon
Like fists thrown into the air
I remember the times I used to sleep
With the noise, because it never
Bothered me at the least.
Makes me think whether the noise
I hear is something else
Like a thumping of the heart
Of whispers of the brain
Reminding me of spaces
If you're reading this blog,
You're reading my soul.
My voice whimper at the mention
Of my name. I don't like talking
About myself a lot.
Not that there's nothing to
Tell, but I find that there's more
Than the little things that made me cry last, or
My top 5 favorite movies or the what I ate
That made me look constipated
And uneasy as you put in your question.
My mouth opens at the exclusion of
The "me" word and sometimes I
Forget myself because
Myself isn't really a significant word.
Ah yes. We love aliens of this kind!
When you love, everything feels like spring. Like the warm rays of the sun kissing you on your frost-bitten skin. Like flowers growing on a desert-beaten soil. Like seasons you've already known, but have never appreciated it as mightily as now.
When you love, that person is all you know. You look at him like a chocolate praline or a heavy bowl of deliciously laden ramen. The rest is unsatisfying and bland. He's the only one you want. He's the only love you want.
When you love, your heart begins to make music, thumping and clanging like an obstinate drumset, kicking into your chest as if it wanted to explode. Your rib cage is constantly pestered by a stubborn tenant, and the only way you can keep it is to make a deep long sigh, like telling a secret to the wind.
