realizing that I don’t have to be better than the one before. I don’t have to try to outclass others. I don’t have to aspire to best others in their respective sports or occupation. I should not have to step on others to make me seem that I am the right person. I don’t have to belittle strangers and acquaintances to further my ego. I don’t have to step around obstacles and dodge statements to make myself seem right at every turn. No. Love is when I can open the jar of peanut butter for her jelly sandwich. Love is when I am able to keep her warm when the goosebumps of cold invade her skin. Love is when I can make her smile without having to change an inch of my individualism. Love is when I can look at groves of women and still find her beautiful to me. Love is overlooking the flaws and fissures of each other and seeing the [in]dividual that I and she have fallen in love with. Love.
I want to punch the walls until my knuckles bleed and the blood mixes with the paint. Right now.
Cold ghastly fingers gliding along the bed sheets. They are like icicles that bend to your will. Having wrapped around my extremities I’m starting to realize that I am trapped. Pinned down by a stranger. By an unknown. Goosebumps have all but disappeared on my skin. But then I realize it was all just a dream. Or was it a nightmare? Refrigerate my heart my stranger. Chill me to the bones with your articulated words rolling off the tip of your tongue. Let me feel what I have been waiting to feel.
Once in a while I see my friends. They either ask me: a)Where have I been? b)What have I been up to? c)How come we don’t hang out anymore?
Truthfully…I’ve grown tired of being out in public, spending money on alcohol and conversations. I’ve grown weary of the scene that I, a young 20 year old boy, should be participating in. Dive bars. Clubs. Popular eateries.
To me….I think a time best spent with friends is when there are no distractions. no noise. Conversation in the backyard over a cup of orange juice and water. Distractions amuse me. I am a weird individual.
I wonder if the things I have done to bring myself to this point of my life bring any substance to my soul?
A torrent. A hurricane. A whirlwind. A downpour. A gust. A storm.
You are a storm to me.
A storm that riles me up from the inside. You destroy me. You create me.
You rile me up perfectly with love and affection. And you destroy me so.
It is so beautiful to bear witness to it.