If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

Σάββατο, 17 Ιανουαρίου 2015

My Field Was Barren

I could stay up all night and listen to you talking about stuff I barely comprehend, things that you care about but I have no clue of, things that never even crossed my mind and I'll sit up, all night and listen to you. With attention. With curiosity. With genuine interest because it comes from you.

An hour, a day, a week, a lifetime feels so short, so soon, so not-long-enough with you.

I'd like to crawl under your skin, just to feel you closer.

I'd like to take you by the hand and offer you the world. Take you to places you've never been or seen and tell you all about it.

I'd say I love you but I don't think that little word can include us; the feelings, the history, the essence of what we are. The you and me put together.

I still doubt. You. This. Me. I wake up in the middle of night wondering when it'll all go bad, I mean that's what happened then remember? I don't think I can do it again.

So I look at you through screens; a little safety net. The thing my brain has been screaming at me to use. And it's killing me. The wanting vs the not believing. The loving vs the fear. The me now vs the me then.

I don't know if there's something you can say or do and fix this, fix me right now.

Maybe just, please let's not fuck this up, not again. Be you, and let me be me, with all my weirdness and issues until I believe again.

Until I feel again.

Until I trust again.

That maybe, just maybe, this time, it will all be alright.

So for now, just take my hand, hold it tight and walk with me in my barren field.

And just promise me that it'll be alright.


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