Wednesday, April 25, 2012

This. Always This

My heart hurts. The time, it's ticking by, forging a path, despite my hands which grasp to hold it. My heart hurts. It's all going. The light of the future isn't as bright as the burning of the past. Nostalgia for the present I'm not living beats at my chest. By the time the day closes on us, and the world returns to their respective nests, I'm still going to be here, alone.

Pick holes in me and my love will all fall out. But that's ok because nobody wants it anyway. They all glance, look away, keep walking. I'll sit here until someone wants to sit by my side. If I fall off the seat and I can't get back up, I hope someone will pick me up and carry me home.

I need to know my faith in humanity isn't unfounded. Someone be the person I want them to be.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Love, Love, Love

What do they know of love? What does anybody know? Could they look you in the eye and tell you that they know what it's like when they're urging to you to give away pieces of your soul?

Do they know of its smell? Old vanilla and dust. Do they know of its looks? Creased spines, yellow pages, and covers scuffed away at the edges. Do they know of its touch? Fragile pages brushing as light as a butterfly wing against tips of fingers. Do they know of its sounds? Cracking spines and the flutter of pages.

Do they know of its wisdom? Passed down from person to person like secret whisperings. Do they know of its freedom? Displacing you into another realm, another life. Do they know of its comfort? Empathy, tragedy; the food for human souls. Do they know of its commitment? It never leaves while you are like to need it. Do they know of its love? Bearing you when you might drown, and even when you might not.

What do they know of love?
 They who urge you to part with old friends, who say "you have no room for others!".
What do they know of love?
Nothing. Those who recognise it would never say "give them away!".