inthe-stars

i can keep telling you i love you every day but every time i do, i feel like i'm simultaneously losing pieces of my heart. you brush it off like i don't mean anything to you. like i never meant anything to you. i wonder if i'll ever mean something to you again. you said you knew what you wanted but i know whatever it is no longer includes me. and i know myself; i'm weak when it comes to you so even though i've been thinking lately about how i wont be foolish enough to fall back in love with you not even all that deep down, i'm sure that i will. but i can't keep telling you i love you every day. because every time i do, i'm losing mor

there's a good chance that you're going to break my heart; im already bracing for the pain- but there's an even better chance that nothing else will make me feel this way again.

your angelic voice will carry me through this year, (i'll try not to fight).

i need you to not be a dream anymore. i need you to be more than eyes fluttering closed to soft voices sent through wires and chords of songs sent in sad attempts to feel closer to you. 'cause i'm tired of thinking of you like you're some kind of fantasy that i can't ever touch. because you're real, you're definitely real.

i met a girl and i fell before i knew her name and before i knew it i had a reason to look forward to tomorrow; tomorrow feels like hope, and it feels like her around me. and im smiling for the first time because it feels like love.

i could spend hours staring at my phone, sending you heart emojis while my own heart feels like it's leaving my chest. i could make playlists for you every day, each day different moods that all mean that i'm into you. and i could write poem after poem or even learn the guitar if i thought my words, my sound, my songs could bring you closer to me.

you're a storm and im just the snow, afraid that i might melt; when you decide it's time for rain, i won't survive. the trees outside are bending to the incredible force of the wind and i am bending to your will. your cold stare makes me feel like I'd be better off outside in the wind.

the song i would sing to you/ would sound a lot like waves/ crashing against each other as they combine. it would sound like water rushing/ by your ears; laughing as you pick sand/ from your hair. it would sound like your voice/ as you call out to your friends/ in childish joy; like sunshine on your face/ as you float on your back/ and drift and try not to drift off to sleep/ to the hum of the car/ motor on your way home.

my love is a cage that keeps me locked up until i forget how to fly. my love has clipped my wings & filed my claws & forced me to rely on promises; on the hope that the world hasn't forgotten that once my love was a window that's since been jammed shut.

why is it that i can never write until something awful happens- what is it about pain that demands to be memorialized in words that dont matter? why is it that words escape and don't return until someone i love tells me to die or until i wish that i had?