Dear Hannah,

Sharing a bed with you is like sharing the ocean with a

pebble;

you are so small and soft and rounded, I can

fold you up and cover you with blankets of my love,

waves of my love.

You are precious and possibly in need of protecting but in so many ways

I cannot and should not protect you.

This life is as much yours as it is mine and if I were to

protect you from

anything beyond my shoreline

it would be misery to stand still.

Sharing a day with you is like sharing the wind

with a butterfly and the

metaphor may not work out the way I have planned it to but you

surprise me at the oddest times and so

I guess it works out after all.

I can hear you move in the bed you lie in; I can

see you resting and dreaming and allowing your mind to be

filled and unfilled with the contents of your subconscious and

I suppose if I did not adore you so

it might be

suspicious that I

watch you so closely.

But I love you.

And so I feel that it is only right,

it’s definitely

understandable

that I want to watch you comfortable, peaceful, in a tidalwave of a

resting place

breathing in and out and

reminding me that life

and love

is fragile and special

and, once, you might have been a pebble in the ocean

but now

you are the lover in my bed.

Dear Hannah

Thank you. For advising me to never apologize for crying again.

Thankyou for sitting with me while I break down, while I cry…

Thankyou for being this person I have needed for so long.

I really hope I am and can be the things that you need.

And if I end up not being these things you need,

I hope you find them.

Hannah

I like breaking the spines of journals

like I’m breaking the whole goddamn story

it’s liftingly offensive and it’s wonderful at the same time.

boring; it’s become so mundane.

hannah.

like a rupture in my side.

she always steals my eyes

i don’t care how long i get to keep her as mine

i just love the way she kisses

and how she can never read my mind

but she holds me like i should have been held my whole life.

and that’s a feeling you just don’t forget;

kind of like your first kiss - it - stays in the back of your

mind, sits there with no story

but its yours and you keep it that

feeling.

fitting in all the perfect places

i’m writing it all down in hopes i can excuse my temporary extravagance on the specific week

4.29.2012

In the Lack of Graceful Virtues

i wish i could explain it to you the way that it truly is

unfiltered, in completely unforgiving light.

because that’s the way i see it.

and that’s the way it’s supposed to be seen.

it’s simple, biological, treatable, fixable.

I’m torn and it’s reasonable?

I wish I could explain what it is like to be split open

literally separated by a gap, unpleasant and unkind

it appalls me that it’s even possible to be split in the sort of way that requires a fitting of oneself.

And I have to stand and turn to the mirror just to put things straight.

It’s not the worst possibility but it is wretched. If you only knew what

it feels like to be truly naked,

gaping,

with a hole that opens up to the very insides of your body you know nothing about.

The insides of your body that leave spaces for arguments and conversations of the past.

The insides where you have lost certain pieces of yourself that you have not seen in years’ time.

The insides of your body which you have never seen, places in yourself that you have never been.

And at the end of it all I conclude

that no one should ever be allowed in the room to see this

ever.

And as long as this goes on, I will have to keep it to myself, bear it all myself.

I can barely look at myself these days.

It’s as if my self-esteem has fallen deep into that hole, deeper than the hole itself, hiding from me, guilty that it has fallen at all…

Once it is over, at least I will know where to fish it out.  

qriouskris asked: You are gorgeous and so is your writing.

thankyou! :)