Not a poem, but a small short story that I wrote late one night. I wonder if it's good.
and post notes and photos about your poem like s. grace.
That night, under the luminance of my city, listening to your music, you asked me what it felt like to fall in love. At first I was at a loss for words, although in my head I could write countless poems to give words to such a feeling, I could only mutter but three words, “I don’t know”. The truth was, I really didn’t know, I wouldn't expect anyone to know, but I did my best to describe how I was feeling in that very moment.
I told you how it makes your heart play tricks on you, seeings as a steady heartbeat doesn't quite match my shaking hands, clammy palms, and paralysing paranoia. Falling in love is less of a feeling and more the action of giving yourself to someone, wholly and endlessly.
Maybe love, in itself, is an illusion, like steady heartbeats and pinky promises. But what I disclosed that night, was that when you find the right person, everything erupts, all at once.
My world was molten when you came into it, the feelings I had ate away at my bones until I was weak at the knees, more figuratively than literally. Falling in love is called falling for a reason. It all happens in the blink of an eye, the flash of a camera, a two-second first kiss. From that moment on, time is suspended and everything is infinite. Before I could continue, you turned to me with that longing stare, and asked a simple question, “How did you know we were infinite?”
With a sigh, I told the tale of our love, our two month journey that felt like decades. We were both lonely, each in different ways. Me, I was sunken in solitude, lonely in a corner cafe writing bad poetry. You were lonely in your art, which always seemed to be void of something, until our world collided. We were both scared senseless, hiding away from reality. Sometimes the tension between us was so thick, it was as if I could reach out and strangle it with my bare hands. In the beginning, I truly didn't know why a strange pair like us stumbled upon each other in the first place, but now I see why people claim that everything happens for a reason, and good things take time. What I will always count as the turning point in my life is when you let me in. You showed me your world of graphite stained fingers, and sketchbook masterpieces, while I showed you my words, your words, our words.
That night, while we sat in complete euphoric silence, though I knew that while immortality is proven to be impossible, I would have gladly lived lifetimes in your arms.
Copyright © s. grace | Year Posted 2017