It has been a while since we last connected. I hope you’re doing well. I’m here to share some thoughts and feelings with you. I’ve been trying to bring some laughter into our interactions, maybe cracking a joke or two, hoping to share some moments of joy. However, I’ve come to realize that this can only work if both of us are fully committed to it, and I sincerely want that to be the case.
Sometimes, my thoughts get a bit jumbled, and I find it hard to express myself without your inspiration. You see, you’re like the rain that quenches my thirst, and I’m the hurricane that’s named after that rain. We complement each other, just like the way winks make me feel special and unique to someone. Just like snowflakes, which are all unique despite their shared characteristics, why shouldn’t a kiss be just as special and individual? It’s a personal and unique experience.
You’re both fun to have around and incredibly cute, and your presence leaves a lasting impression, etched in the very fibers of my being. But, you can also be exceptionally cold at times, and I hope one day to be reassured that I am truly loved.
I once heard that doves have only one lover throughout their lives, and the thought crossed my mind because it felt like you kept me grounded, unable to spread my wings and soar. I tried to take off, but it seemed like something was always holding me back, leaving me feeling like my wings were clipped.
I remember the sensation of your fingers gently tracing across my chest, the contrast between the softness of your fingertips and the slight scratch of your nails. It was a vivid reminder of how you could be both gentle and intense in the blink of an eye. These memories tend to resurface unexpectedly, like a sudden realization when I’m sipping coffee on the veranda.
Some memories are so clear and poignant, like the color red in a black-and-white world, that they stick with us. Maybe that’s why people say that blood is thicker than water, emphasizing the deep bonds formed through shared experiences and emotions.
I think back to the moments when emotions are so powerful that they feel like a song’s lyrics, or when a group of people comes together to sing along to a favorite tune. It’s like that feeling you get when you hug someone you truly care about and momentarily forget all your worries.
As I write this, I can’t help but chuckle, even as my eyes well up with tears. It’s a bittersweet reflection on the past, sifting through every detail in hopes of learning from it and improving for the future. I strive to live in the present and not let the past weigh me down, but some wounds take time to heal.
Our relationship is reaching a point where it feels like all I can look forward to is a physical connection, a brief escape from the prison of my emotions. I sometimes remember kissing you as if I were watching from outside my own body, an out-of-body experience.
I’ve always tried to make you laugh, but it’s become challenging to distinguish when I’m being serious. I find myself in situations where I pretend to be someone I’m not, like ordering a soda instead of a drink at a bar, putting up a facade to hide my true feelings. It’s a cycle of using alcohol for confidence and then using it to escape reality, only to wake up filled with regret.
Our souls are bound together, and a kiss is a symbol of our connection. I hope we’re not strangers now, as there was a time when I couldn’t predict your actions, but I always trusted that you would make the right move. It wasn’t because you were predictable, but because when you touched my chest, my heartbeats guided you, like a psychic connection with visions embedded in your palm.
I wish I could see the future for us, but I can’t. I can only dream, and in my dreams, I long to be awake. The pain is real, and I find myself crying in bed, hoping the white sheets will hide the evidence of my tears. I see you everywhere, even in the clouds and in puddles I resist stepping on in the rain. They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, but all I see in my reflection are eyes darker than coal. I hope this doesn’t mean that everything has turned to ashes.
Sometimes, I tell you to keep your glasses off because you look adorable without them, but then I think your glasses look even cuter without you wearing them.
I find myself caught in a cycle of retribution, a reflection of my initial judgments. This emotional journey has proven to be quite unpredictable, with each intense session coming back to haunt me. I can’t help but wonder if you’re a Pisces; I’ve heard that some Pisces individuals are quite remarkable. However, I remain oblivious to the complex mix of circumstances and my own actions. Am I pursuing a job or a greater cause? Pursuit can be quite challenging.
Every mistake, whether past or present, seems etched in sharp relief in everything I’ve done. It’s as if every action I’ve taken is the single most catastrophic event on the planet. Comparatively, the feelings of others, like Christians, appear as small and inconsequential as an inchworm. I’m expected to move on and act as though nothing happened. I envision a serene bird flying against a backdrop of cerulean skies, both wings stretched high, gradually fading into the distance, out of focus. Meanwhile, a second bird with only one wing struggles, with visible obstacles below. Who does this second bird represent?
Is there a way to mend what’s broken, like an aerial gaze that has turned arid today? It feels useless at times, and I can’t help but feel ruthless, unable to keep it together. If I clasp my fists any tighter, it seems like I could squeeze an atom, wiping the slate clean from all data. I genuinely wish that were possible; perhaps a mix of anger would help.
The mere mention of pistol chambers seems almost apocalyptic in this pristine world we inhabit. When the wind bites with a chilling cold, numbing the skin, it’s as if the entire realm pauses, leaving us suspended in profound silence.
I’ve encountered two formidable challenges: navigating passive-aggressive behavior and deciphering mood swings that seem like cryptic enigmas. You had a way of conveying your desires without uttering them outright, and I found myself intrigued by the art of manipulation. In my eyes, you were my anchor, much like a boat gliding along the coastal waters. I had assumed that everything beneath me would remain steadfast and unshaken.
Our well-thought-out blueprint has slowly begun to show signs of wear and tear, with stains that have taken on a rather ominous shade of red. The stress from it all has taken residence in my head, leaving me with frequent headaches. Each morning, as I rub my eyes, the echoes of last night’s arguments reverberate in my mind. Eye irritations have become all too common companions.
This whole ordeal has definitely taken its toll on me. To find some semblance of solace, I’ve turned to an unconventional blend of coffee and liquor, sometimes jokingly calling it an “elixir,” even though its taste often reminds me of overly congested chestnuts. On the brighter side, there’s a certain exhilaration that comes with speeding through a closed tunnel in the early morning chill with the top down on a convertible.
In a nutshell, my emotional journey has been characterized by a yearning for redemption, a constant sense of uncertainty about my pursuits, and the weight of past mistakes. Through vivid analogies and metaphors, I’ve tried to capture the complexity of the emotions and experiences that have colored my path.
You heard how I breathe when I sleep,
Or how I made those odd little moaning noises.
It was funny; I just laughed at how we laughed,
Sad. Now, I’m saddened by the memory of our laughter.
A Neptunian fury, name it a curtain call,
The brim of the acrylic cloth that concealed shadows in our love,
Hollow in the squeaky bed, bolted in with rusty lugs,
Lunging forth to greet the sunrise, under covers dried with passion.
In our eyes, there lies a passive, sane, perhaps a way,
For absence makes my heart grow stranger,
Struck gold with a pickaxe made from my own bone,
Marrow that you’d swallow, a diamond in the rough, drone,
Piling up, glowing in the dark.
We’d pair up so close to the heart,
If we were of another genus from the start,
The geniuses on Noah’s ark couldn’t have torn us apart.
Feel the vectors into orbit,
melting into fiscal porn
Each waking moment exists to mourn
the pensive rigor mortis
And I hate myself so much every single morning
It’s like clockwork, lonesome, staring in the mirror
See a monster, bones drugged, mainly see the errors
Home drunk, sloppy, with a motor function failure
Open palm my soul in one, the shodokans prepared
I’m off the bat, I’m off the case, I’m solely here to reap
A wad of air I waste, so oddly placed you forget to even breathe
You wake up in your sleep, catch your breath, and then you’re weak
Wake to a dim reality that you’re never truly buzzed
Whole life I never felt hungover
Till I was happy once, then got drunk, so then I felt hungover
Like ignorance was bliss, sort of an ignorance to drugs
To duly know that without or with them my life just really sucked
Like I’ve been wasted the entire time, while I was fucking sober
Bring the jester in, and clamor while I become a fucking stoner
Unbelievable, the whole time I was fooled into a misnomer
Eat and see, consume and teach then touch just like conformists
You aren’t watching a train wreck this is not a pure performance
This is unadulterated steroids being pumped into my assortment
Lie inside apartment, leering at the star scape
See your jaw to constellate, I’m so pleased to see your star face
Everything I wrote always had someone in mind
Overcoat and overwhelmed, now dear no one resigns.
Because in this world, your world’s restricted.
When curtains shine through blackness, we play and then we’re victim.
Every person out to get us.
Every person tries compassion?
It’s more than mere prediction.
There the serpent lies unchallenged,
But you whirl and try to damage, because you’re weak and your world’s afflicted.
But to no concern to you, that serpent turns into a worser type of dragon.
You’re hurt. Your mind abandons.
No service. Wires. Synapses.
The sadness morphs to scene addiction.
Your journey’s rite of passage.
Feel worthless. I have had it.
And addiction turns to habit.
Fervid. Decline to comment.
You persons can’t certainly try to fathom
What’s become or what’s to come, but you can read it in description.
The words are tiny, and they’re captioned.
Then you hurl up your prescriptions.
It’s tightly woven.
Mixture of ambition.
Has slowly earned its actions.
Artist dies with his work, and this model just burns inside the pageant.
It’s of worth, and it’s off-course.
The piercing pain pans in.
AND I want more.
Of course what’s written inside the diction are more than I could manage.
It’s the purpose.
And these conditions are perfect.
My mind is madness.
And remember, you can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.