You fit the list.
It took me all of 22 years to find you and there is no catch. It's too soon and this post is premeditated but I can't help it, I can't help you and I can't help us.
You swooped in, into my new beautiful house and found me on a balcony. There was something extremely Veronian and Shakespearian about it and how your champagne flute, identical to mine, would find its way to your lips and stop right short just so you could drink my words instead. I have never found as much value in what I say as you did and 20 minutes later I was hooked.
You asked me about contemporary art while I asked you about the life you capture in stills and we travelled in our pasts and in our minds until we found a confluence on every spot and every stop of the world map.
You want to make me run the land like its meant to be run and I want you to paint it in the colours that only you can but we have to start at opposite ends and unless you start North and I start South, there is no meeting point if we are to be in our maximum splendour.
I wake up to you while you doze off to me, virtually, physically, emotionally. You care, and God knows I've driven myself extinct being invested in the nooks and crannies of other people's vices and virtues. You have both and you let me embrace them, you do the same to me and without trying you're fixing me one distorted lego piece at a time.
I would keep you in my safe haven and not let anyone steal you away from me if I could. But you were stolen even before I met you and now I'll see you on different grid points of our self-constructed map. You swung me in over my head, watched me with those shining eyes, brimming with passion and direction and yet self-concluded confusion, which I adored, and picked me up only to sit me down on a cloud I've never been to before. You better me, and I never did think that that would get checked off, but you fit the boxes on the paper and even the ones that never existed. But you're not staying and there's the catch. That's the part of the list that got contradicted and I never did think much of it.
You're going and I want you to. You're not staying but I wish you were.
I'm here and then I'm gone, and then I'm there and gone again.
All I can ask, is you give me a portrait of you, and keep me, as a ruined photograph, in the back of your wallet.
I hope you will find me. I hope it won't take another 22 years.
I'll miss you.
Yours,
The Frozen Flame.
It took me all of 22 years to find you and there is no catch. It's too soon and this post is premeditated but I can't help it, I can't help you and I can't help us.
You swooped in, into my new beautiful house and found me on a balcony. There was something extremely Veronian and Shakespearian about it and how your champagne flute, identical to mine, would find its way to your lips and stop right short just so you could drink my words instead. I have never found as much value in what I say as you did and 20 minutes later I was hooked.
You asked me about contemporary art while I asked you about the life you capture in stills and we travelled in our pasts and in our minds until we found a confluence on every spot and every stop of the world map.
You want to make me run the land like its meant to be run and I want you to paint it in the colours that only you can but we have to start at opposite ends and unless you start North and I start South, there is no meeting point if we are to be in our maximum splendour.
I wake up to you while you doze off to me, virtually, physically, emotionally. You care, and God knows I've driven myself extinct being invested in the nooks and crannies of other people's vices and virtues. You have both and you let me embrace them, you do the same to me and without trying you're fixing me one distorted lego piece at a time.
I would keep you in my safe haven and not let anyone steal you away from me if I could. But you were stolen even before I met you and now I'll see you on different grid points of our self-constructed map. You swung me in over my head, watched me with those shining eyes, brimming with passion and direction and yet self-concluded confusion, which I adored, and picked me up only to sit me down on a cloud I've never been to before. You better me, and I never did think that that would get checked off, but you fit the boxes on the paper and even the ones that never existed. But you're not staying and there's the catch. That's the part of the list that got contradicted and I never did think much of it.
You're going and I want you to. You're not staying but I wish you were.
I'm here and then I'm gone, and then I'm there and gone again.
All I can ask, is you give me a portrait of you, and keep me, as a ruined photograph, in the back of your wallet.
I hope you will find me. I hope it won't take another 22 years.
I'll miss you.
Yours,
The Frozen Flame.
wow. heart breaking.
ReplyDeleteThank you :)
DeleteYou break my broken heart.
ReplyDelete:)
Deleteclass.
ReplyDelete