I'm a tard, a performer and a princess. I cry when I laugh too much. Erasable highlighters make me happy. My happiness is shallow and I like it that way. Ask me anything. I like getting asked. I feel smart.
I'm NOT short, I'm bite sized ;)
Day 18: colors.
Day 6: the beach.
Throw back to when things weren’t so stressful. Guhh summer please come faster! :(
One day, he’s going to know. He’ll know your birthday, your middle name, where you were born, your star sign, and your parents names. He’ll know how old you were when you learnt to ride a bike, how your grandparents passed away, how many pets you had, and how much you hated going to school. He’ll know your eye colour, your scars, your freckles, your laugh lines and your birth marks. He’ll know your favourite book, movie, candy, food, pair of shoes, colour, and song. He’s going to know why you’re awake at 5am most nights, where you were when you realised you’d lost a good friend, why you picked up the razor and how you managed to put it down before things went too far. He’s going to know your phobias, your dreams, your fears, your wishes, and your worries. He’s going to know about your first heartbreak, your dream wedding, and your problems with your parents. He’ll know your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy, and your mixed emotions. He’s going to know about your love for mayonnaise, your dream of being famous when you were five, your need to quote any film you know all the way through, and your fear of growing older. He’ll know your bad habits, your mannerisms, your stroppy pout, your facial expressions, and your laugh like it’s his favourite song. The way you chew, drink, walk, sleep, fidget and kiss. He’s going to know that you’ve already picked out wedding flowers, baby names, tiles for the bathroom, bridesmaid dresses, and the colour of your bedroom walls. He’s going to know, get annoyed at and then accept that you leave clothes everywhere, take twenty minutes to order a Starbucks, have to organise your DVD’s alphabetically, and check your horoscope… just incase. He’ll know your McDonald’s order, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want, and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles. He’s going to know how you feel without you telling him, that you need a wee from a look on your face, and that you’re crying without shedding tears. He’s going to know all of it. Everything. You, from top to bottom and inside out. From learning, from sharing, from listening, from watching. He’s going to know every single thing there is to know, and you know what else? He is still going to love you.
See I’m going to be honest, I’m not a love poet
About how I loved you the same way that I learned how to ride a bike: Scared
You see, I’m not really a love poet
Until your heartbeat sounds like my last name and you smile like the pacific ocean
If I was a love poet
I swear, I’m not a love poet
…you see I have this envelope, I carry it with me all the time, it’s full of all the butterflies I felt the first time she relaxed the velcro on her lips and smiled in my direction. Most of them are still alive. I suppose these belong to you, too.
1) The light on you is beautiful, any light, on any day. Baby, even in pitch black darkness you look like a flower in bloom. Baby, the way the moon touches your skin makes me furious.
2) Your hands can hold me in ways I did not know existed, in ways God has not created yet. My mother always told me I would know by the ways the fingers feel in mine and yours have always set me on fire.
3) I met the most beautiful woman at the subway station, she looked like baby breath, she looked like a sprig of violets, the air around her tried not to breathe. Baby, when I look at you, I can’t remember her face or even her eyes. You are every sigh my body has ever held.