He told me He loved me.
He told me He knew I should be His from the first greet.
Here I am, 5 hours into the night, lying in my bed, smiling, and awake from the overpowering excitement of Him loving me.
Me. The crazy weirdo. The nostril flaring. The hair dyer. The language quitter. The picky eater. The anxiety attack survivor. The Harry Potter reference machine inventor. The girl who loves Him back.
I often fantasize of a violent change in this terrible nothingness.
you.
conversing with me.
like things evolved properly.
like a shift in your biology that would make you fond of saying ‘sorry’ once in a while.
like a constantly alternating timeline, where I don’t see all of the defeatist outcomes.
maybe just possibilities.
everything in this 'verse tried stopping me
(as I was heading towards you,
the wind, the fever, the car, the phone)
every particle of time and space was whispering "stay"
(the second our fingertips touched,
the train, the bus, the crazy, the money)
it was too early.
early in this specific timeline.
now what we had is tarred, damaged, and unclosed.
a pestering wound.
a cake out in the sun.
something neglected.
I should have stayed.
you could have asked more than once.
we would have been.
I guess I wanna turn seventy.
I guess I wanna tell my grandkids how I wanted to join a circus on false pretenses to set free to the elephants.
I guess I wanna shave my head for the cancer kids.
I guess I wanna a handsome tall man of my choosing kiss my bald head, and admires my commitment.
I guess I wanna travel to India, and drink exclusively tea for the rest of my life.
I guess I want my wounds to heal and turn to beautiful scars.
I wanna plant a pretty, lovely flower for every terrible thought that's now in my head.
I wanna have the biggest garden in the Northern hemisphere.
I wanna laugh without covering my mouth.
I wanna laugh.
I wanna
What does my heart feel like?
Distant and fading.
Cold and tiny.
What do I feel when I listen to His heartbeats?
Huge and nurturing.
Warm and shiny.
And I'm trying to soak up the sun in my bedroom, getting burned instead of comfortable, so unfelt, so trapped and unable to transcend, cause He doesn't even know I need some light.
I dont want to take a picture of the sunset.
Lying in the back seat of my car.
Middle of nowhere of some freeway.
Faux leather sticks to my fat, greasy skin.
Heat melts my mascara, sweat or tears, I can't tell the difference.
I haven't been sane for a while.
Creamy vanilla clouds. Peachy cotton candy. Cherry syrup.
Threatening puce darkness. Shy stars creeping underneath of their invisibility cloak. Reinventing themselves from nothing to diamonds.
Warmth leaving my corporeal shell. Almost like blood loss.
Rebound streetlights. Petroleum spill.
Bitter tar and and a very empty stomach.
I sound like human trash.
It smells like rain.
My pho