__________, I feel seismic waves when I look in your eyes as you survey the universe. Planets rattled from the vibrance of privilege, the chance to be reflected in the irises of a soul as beautiful as yours.
If the world was mine, I’d give if to you tied and bound, with my crisp red heart nestled tight in it’s clenched jaws. But I am nothing. And I have not.
Though I may have promised it, the world was never mine to give. I was just one of many lone islands, lucky enough to be inhabited by you while adrift on your journey to yourself. But even without me, you can still have it all.
So ________, if you wish, bathe in the moonglow. Dance in the sundrops. Tip toe cross the starlillies and run through the waterfalls of Intergalactica.
And no matter who you become, no matter what continents you grace on your quest of soul searching. Never doubt this, _______. When the next desolate isle promises you the world, know its a lie.
This love will take years to process. I will be writing from my memory of you until my wrinkles are wrinkled and my impassioned youth only exists in washed out tees, faded movie tickets and old photographs of our loving each other.
On you I’ll waste much imagination and my very last wit’s end.
My muse of ages, you’ll be.
A writer’s greatest inspiration.
I’m just hoping… you’ll be present for the read aloud.
Finally, I can behave badly without fear of your disapproving stare.
Finally, I can go where I want to go, do what I want to do, see who I want to see,
without the threat of it ending in a fight where you slam doors and I drink too much and go for a stagger down the alley and curse your name to the twinkling onlookers above.
I can finally eat what I want and leave the dishes in the sink for too long.
I can kick my socks off under the cover while Im sleeping.
I can wear my button ups to the top button without you accusing me of cheeseball tendencies.
I can roam the world without you telling me not to go out alone and being worried that I’ll be in danger or worse, that I’ll meet someone I like more than you.
Finally, I can do all these things and more. All these little battles I fought so hard against you for. But I haven’t won anything at all, really.
Because finally, all these hollow freedoms, I wish I could trade back in
for the one thing I’ve lost that can never be mine again.
Finally, I’m not afraid to miss your face, because it’s already faded.
I’m no longer afraid to lose you, because you’ve already gone.
I’ve been set free.
But though the chains have long since been broken, my blood is still pumped by an incarcerated heart.
These are my sequestered conclusions. Inglorious victories won in the carnage of love.
Forget what they told you. Love does not conquer all. They were most likely confused with lust, power, greed, envy, pride, contempt, faithlessness and any other rotten fruits of the spirit you can think of.