Blank Pages

Our hands lingered as I fell in love… and he smiled because he knew.

I had a paperback heart, creased by a tough few years and present heartaches.

The colors had faded in some chapters and my spine was worn out and weak.

I was anxious to see my book in good hands for once.

And he kissed my wounds, seeing them as cracks to put his love in rather than scars.

I have lost myself in the one I love, but I found myself too.

So now I sit here, fingers hovering over keys, staring at a blank page and a few messy lines.

But my thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

For once, I’m speechless.

So I think I’ll just start with our story.

It’s the one that starts with me blushing shy and his eyes smiling under long lashes… And then…

We were together. So I forgot the rest.

I always found beauty in things that were imperfect- they are much more interesting and that made him my kind of perfect.

And ever since then, he’s been my best distraction.

I craved him in the most innocent form.

I craved to say goodnight and feel his lips brush my forehead.

And to hear him say that he adores me when I feel my worst.

Craved for him to be the one I’ll always know.

I craved him in ways where I just wanted to be next to him and nothing more or less.

He wanted to say ‘I love you’ but kept it to goodnight because love would mean some falling and he knew she’s afraid of heights.

His love was a risk. What if it doesn’t work out? Ah, but what if it does.

What’s the point of life if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?

No body gets to choose if they get hurt in this world, but they do have some say in who hurts them.

I like my choices.

And honestly, it would be my privilege to have my heart broken by him.

I’m in love with him and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things.

I fell in love with the way he fell asleep, slowly, and then all at once.

I fell in love with his courage, the sincerity and his unremitted love.

I fell in love with his eyes, seeing me when he looked.

He let me be a fool with him.

He was the beginning of everything.

He combined the world’s most intimate feelings into one coursing current and demanded my heart to feel it too.

Passion, love, madness, desire, tenderness.

The sure sign of his strength was how gently he loved his girl.

Me.

So as I try to write down our story in ink, I’m looking at this page, but it’s still empty.

Society says that "love" is the word.

But lovce only leads to a feeling described and defined. So with him...

Some things are just better left to be felt.