Hate? Love.

I hate the backseat of cars
I hate purple flowers on green fields
I hate everything that's blue and deep,
including the sky and the sea,
I hate butterflies
I hate people smiling at me
I hate everything that reminds me of you
I hate that I love you.

I love the backseat of cars
I love purple flowers on green fields
I love everything that's blue and deep,
especially the sky and the sea,
I love butterflies
I love your smiling at me,
I love everything that reminds me of you
I simply
             pathetically
                              tragically
                                           and quite crazily
                                                                     love you.

Photo by Tom Weaver

When the Tide Comes

Just when I think everything is on the right path and feel that things are going well for a change, there you go and say that one word, that one phrase that makes me plunge again. Because I always need reminding, don't I? I need to be dragged down and grounded, bolted to this life I don't want to live. I wish I could go back, but the shore is so far by now, and I'm already drowning.

Digital art by Sabrina Pohle

Nu știu ce e mai rău: faptul că îmi lipsești, că în absența ta mă simt ca un fluture căruia i-au fost smulse aripile (ce fluture? biată molie...) sau că am început să mă obișnuiesc cu greutatea din piept, parte din mine, reîntoarcere la cocon.
Mă trezesc, doare. Beau cafeaua, doare. Fumez țigara, oftez. O mână tremurată, un chip drag, vorbe aiurind pe dealuri, mângâind aerul... Oi fi visat, oare? Doare.
Am închis-o în mine, durerea, o protejez în spatele coastelor. Țin la ea fiindcă îmi amintește de tine. Mă învelesc cu ea în fiecare noapte, să îmi țină de frig.

Photo by Loveiisparanoid

Define

How do we know that we love when we love?
Do we love the image? the actor? the act?
Is it the low, the high, the pain in my chest, the thrill in my heart?
Is it a curse or a blessing? Strength or disease?
It makes me both anxious and puts my heart at ease.
Described in so many ways but never defined
I know that I love,
but I doubt.

Source: Unreactive

I (Don't) Miss You

I do not miss you.

I hunger for you

with every starving cell in my body

I thirst for you

your smell, your touch, your taste

It is not void I feel

It is deaf pain,

need, longing, yearning

so heavy no words can explain

And no, do not mistake it for lust

Because the thousand thoughts in my mind,

the restlessness of my heart

All drive me to you

All tear me apart.

So trust me, when I say I miss you, I don't.

I just say so for lack of better words.

Photo by Icecubed17

Fading

I am forgetting the sound of your voice, the smell of your skin, the taste of your lips.
Forgetting is more painful than memories have ever been.
I force my mind to stay still and remember. I go through blank pages, looking for smears left by my senses.
They must've been written in invisible ink to begin with.
A wing of shadow is growing inside me. Shade is the only thing I can grow from within.

Photo by Gilad Benari

Unanswered

I keep telling myself I can get over you. I did it before. But, I mean, did I really? Then why is it that it took me not months, not weeks, but minutes to fall so hard so deep again? To trust you when I trust no one? Is it that the universe is trying to tell me something, or is it something I'm telling myself? Was I lying to myself then, or am I lying now? Why am I still in the same place, again in the same place, when staying still suffocates me? And what the hell am I doing?
Should I still be patient when I know this is a dead end? Should I turn my back on myself again and try to follow a new road? Should I wait and hope for the impossible to happen? And do I really have a choice?
Why do you keep the answers in your eyes? Why is the quiet of my mind in your arms? How can I call you mine when you have never been and never will be? Why do I settle for only bits and pieces when I want you whole? And do I? And if so, for how long?
When is this gonna end? Will it be tomorrow, next week, or 7 years from now? And did it ever begin? Or will it ever?
Why do I question myself so much? Should I just let go, give in, and see what comes of it? Am I not asking the right questions? Do they even have answers?

Oh, believe me, I do.

Photo source: We Heart It

Band-Aid

Your silence speaks volumes; it hollows me out. Or maybe I've been this empty vessel for all time, waiting for you to help me fill it. But I don't think you can hear the thirst gurgling down my body. Does it start in the mind? Does it start in the heart? All I know for sure is I'm bleeding torrents and ask you for a Band-Aid, which you refuse to give. Cause you can't hear me, baby, so lost in your quiet inquietude that all around only replies to the echo of your painstruck soul. Numb, you try to go numb, when all I want is feel. Always on the opposite ends of the same thought, this can only end badly, but still...

Photo source: Grunge-top

Dreamer

A thousand dreams

unwritten and untold

or screamed out loud

swiping me off my feet with the force of a thousand hurricanes

hugs dissipating into morning air

and shivers lost in summer storms

and all that's left

is words

empty shells

and I want to believe that your whispers

hold the promise

of truth

Photo source: Tattoos

Strung Out

You play my body like a violin
hitting just the right notes
Strum the chords of my soul
in silent whispers.
I've built my walls so high
that no one could climb over,
yet you managed to crumble them
with one look, one word, one silence.
I fear that I dream too much;
you nudge me on softly
not trying to change me into being the one that you want
instead, letting me know that I already am.

Photo source: TheSmallL7