the crumpled smear of your heart
held in unsure hands
and uncertain power
then possessive eyes
stripped back disguise
that paper-waste basket
has
spilled trust
like pools of water
like pools of blood
miles between two hands
two hearts
four walls
one scrap of trust
lost.
We’re all little molecules floating around space, and sometimes we collide with such intensity and passion we create a spark of electricity, a burst of pure energy, and become one.
Bon Iver come crawl into my ear and rest their for a little while, keep me company in these lonely times.
I like how he smells.
I like the how his muscles harden at a light touch.
I like the way his hair feels through my fingers.
I like his expert hands, slender and tantalising.
I like the warmth of his chest.
I like the way his hair tickles my nose while resting on my shoulder.
I like the way my hips move an inch and he yields a mile.
I like the way he looks at me when I talk
I liked his hand touching mine on the pool table, unnoticed by anyone else.
So I was driving home and all of a sudden I just burst out crying. It wasn’t just tears running down my face, it was heaving, uncontrollable bawling. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes fogged up with tears and all I could think was that if I crashed it would be because I was heartbroken. And then all of a sudden it stopped, and I felt empty, and soulless and alone, so deeply and utterly alone. I could drive to the edges of the planet and still feel as alone as I did on the corner of my street at 1.22am in the morning.
I feel like I’m living solely for the future. I’m living on borrowed time, on waiting time, on time in lieu. And it’s draining me. To never live in the present is to never live at all. Let the future be now, let time catch up with my mind, so I may live in this world again.
For years now I’ve had this feeling plaguing me, this deep-set fear, that I will never find someone who will love me enough to want to marry me and have kids and start a family and a life together. It sounds so trivial, everyone feels this way right? But for me, it’s the only path I can see myself on, I can only imagine me alone at 40, not able to love anyone, not able to make a meaningful connection with anybody because that’s who I am, that’s who I’ve always been, and I fear that’s how it’s going to be for the rest of my life.
In most of the hostels I’m staying in they have book exchanges, so once you’ve finished a book you can just swap it for another one that someone’s left behind on their travels. Is it weird that I’m just really excited about reading books in Europe? About lying in a beautiful park in France in the afternoon sunlight and flicking through the pre-loved pages of a fellow traveler, about having a constant companion on the long bus rides, or at the early morning cafes, to have something to read as I watch the world go by. I can’t wait to read in Europe.
Sometimes when I log onto tumblr and for some reason the pictures resonate, the words of a thousand souls hits home, and I just feel so many vicarious snippets of fragmented emotions that I’m overwhelmed by all the pain, love and heartbreak in the world.
There was a guy on the train yesterday who had a rubix cube. He was playing with it absentmindedly with one hand while he was on the phone with the other. When he hung up, a few expert flicks of the wrist and it was perfectly matched up, all colours aligned. Then he mixed it up and proceeded to solve it again. I couldn’t look away, it was entralling. In the space of one train stop he solved it again, and as I tore my eyes away to get off at my station I saw an old business man in a suit, like the ones who usually look like the living dead, staring with the same expression of mild wonder on his face.
I know he’s not the one. I know I’m not going to slip easily into love with him, like the warm bedsheets of a familiar lover. I know he will be distant, I know he won’t want to see me all the time. I know I won’t be able to spill my guts to him, and I know I’m going to be worried about how I look. It’s not going to be easy or simple. I know I’m falling for the wrong guy, the guy who won’t treat me right, and I don’t care, because if he wants me, even a bit, then it’s better than sitting in this pool of loneliness forever.
I like someone too you know, someone I can’t have. But I thought, because I can’t have them, maybe I could have you, for a little while. Small pockets of belonging in your kisses, a glimpse of what it’s like to feel needed. Can’t we just forget those we love together, in a shared spiral of doomed melancholy. We could keep each other lonely.
