I know it’s wrong, I know it’s not meant to be, but how do I tell my heart how to feel?
Something about him was familiar. I knew we never met before but his presence felt extremely familiar. Those bright eyes pierced me with comfort. That smile overwhelmed me with a cozy feeling.
How could you feel so familiar when our paths had never crossed before?
I was in a new city, surrounded by strange people, and everyday you stood out. I would smile, I would say hello, but for a confident person, I couldn’t summon up the courage to approach you and start a conversation.
On our last night in that interesting city I decided it was now or never. We ended up speaking for hours, and I understood how my soul got attracted to you before I knew anything about you.
You have a vibe that I haven’t been introduced to before. A personality of gold, and the more I got to know you, the more my heart wanted to hold on.
My insides did not just do jumping jacks all night, they started a protest inside of me to not let you walk out of my life.
As the sun started to come up I realized this night, that felt like a chapter out of my favorite romance novel, was about to end. You would be getting on a flight back home in a few hours, and I would be getting on a flight back to my home later that day.
How can a conversation with a stranger change so much in you? A couple of hours with you changed my point of view on important aspects in my life. Days later and your voice filled with advice and knowledge rings in my head. You left a print on my soul, and I sit and wonder if I left a print on yours.
I know he still loves me. I catch him staring at me when he thinks I’m not looking. I notice the way he acts differently when I’m around. If he didn’t still love me, he would treat me just like any other person, but he doesn’t. I hear the hesitation in his voice before he says my name. I see the curiosity in his eyes when I talk about something and he wants to know more but he doesn’t want to be the one that asks. I know he still loves me. I know he still cares. But he’ll never admit it to me. He’ll never admit it to himself.
And just like that I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.
And just like that I knew you didn’t feel the same.
Let me tell you about this man, you see, I met him only last week.
My brain is soaked in thoughts of him;
Words he said,
Looks he gave,
Hand gestures he made.
I close my eyes to imagine his face;
The way he stares,
The smile he wears,
The way he lights up when he speaks from the soul.
They told me he was a charmer, you see, but I didn’t believe.
I didn’t think I would get hooked so easily.
Now, I sit and think of him regularly.
I sit and wonder, if he thinks of me.
I’m limited with words and actions, you see.
Because this man works with me.
I analyze so much, of the time we spent together.
I analyze so much, of the words he whispered.
I analyze so much, of the comments he made.
But, yet again, maybe he’s just always that way.
Let me tell you one more thing about this man, you see, the one I only met last week.
His smile has me hooked,
His laugh has me mesmerized,
And his eyes? Yeah I can get lost in them all the time.
The thoughts in my head suffocate me.
I drown in the waves that your memories have created.
I try to paddle through but my closed eyes can only imagine you.
While my ears ring from all the horrid words you said,
I choke on the phrases I never let flow out.
I am soaked in sweat and fear,
As this nightmare takes over me.
My body is flooded with pain,
Inert I lay, incapable of waking up,
I am powerless.
He said I was a great writer, but I had to disagree,
You see those words on paper, I said, are just my honesty.
They represent my heart poured out through the tip of the pen,
They represent my soul’s language, through how my hand held the pen.
For writers are creative, and full of imagination,
While I am just drunk off our moments and memories.
Writers spend days to perfect a piece.
I don’t worry about perfection,
Because I am not perfect,
And neither is my heart or soul,
And they are my guide to writing.
Through these alphabet letters, I put side by side,
To create words, to help me describe,
My thoughts and feelings,
My love and addiction,
So I am not a writer really,
Not even a good one you see,
Because these words that make up meanings,
Are just my heart and soul
Spilled on a piece of paper,