I hate holding back. Trouble is something I do not want, but I can’t stop these words from spilling from out between my teeth, slipping through my outstretched fingers.

I love your eyes. I love your smile. And I love the way your arms feel around my shoulders.

These things, yes, I keep barred. Others, I shouldn’t. But I must. One word, then another tumbles out, then so many more, until I am completely naked, stripped of everything.

Embarrassed, pained, cold.

Is there no happy medium, I often ask. 

You are hers. I know this. Can’t I love you, too? 

People say you’re unintelligent if you’re angry while debating something or having an intelligent discussion with someone else.

I say, if you’re stone-cold, unemotional, and factual during a debate, then you’re useless. It just makes you look like a know-it-all who doesn’t actually know anything (though this may not be the case, but you are presented that way).

Where’s your passion? Where’s your heart in the subject?

There’s a difference between being angry and disrespectful (which is very common), and being fierce and passionate, but being unbiased and respectful at the same time.

Sorry, it just really bothered me, because there was this kid who was completely unemotional who was arguing with me, and he called me an idiot because I got worked up.

I’m sorry that I’m a human with emotions that are expressed when I deem it necessary.

The lightning shines through the navy night sky illuminating the empty streets for the lonely souls who still continue to wander at 2 am. The thunder seems to infiltrate through my bones, making them jump with excitement. The sound fills up my ears, my soul, and it remains in my chest. The late summer breeze flows through my hair, and through my clothes. The rain slowly begins to descend from the skies as it builds up into a heavy down pour that soaks every part of the earth leaving nothing untouched. Some people feel offended when the first drop falls and the heavens turn gray. On the other hand, the rain soothes every tense part of my body. The smell after rain fills up my lungs and awakens my senses. It persuades me to sway with the wind and It alleviates the momentary troubles. When it rains, the Earth is just as emotional as I am. Which makes everything okay again. 

Sometimes I get frustrated because the words in my lexicon limit the amount of emotion I can communicate to others. 

In other words, words are not and never will be enough.

The words we know influence how we think and communicate to other human beings. However, when indescribable emotion enters into frame, words fail because there is nothing quite literal enough to describe a feeling, a fleeting thought or a moment. It is merely a temporary sensation sensed only by the affected individual who is then completely alone in such an experience. 

For example, we say “I love you,” but for me, that is merely a fraction of what I actually feel. “Love” is but a word and a word only. It is a far-away label of feeling, never even coming close to the intense feeling of caring for another being or thing.

Sometimes the thoughts bounce around in my brain so fast there are no words, only feeling. To expect understanding from someone besides myself is unfair. There is nothing left to give anyone else besides the unspoken understanding of inevitable misunderstanding. 

It’s horrible being reminded of someone who doesn’t care about you by the smallest things in life. It gives you a desperate sinking feeling, like you’re drowning and holding one hand above the water and the person you want to rescue you by just acknowledging you and paying you some respect doesn’t. So you’re screaming a silent scream and your words are drowning with you. And all this time that person is doing his own thing.

How can their attention matter so much to you when you never had it in the first place?

Brushing teeth at the same time, giving back kisses, forehead kisses, hipbone handlebars, collarbones, showering together but washing the other, secret sleepovers, the way you twitch before you fall asleep, mine, always personal, pinky on the inside, back tickles, you making me food, curls lots of curls, green on the outside, taller than me, hands on the small of my back, passion, complete, thought of forever, knowing preferences, unity, laughing for no reason, sweatpants, nurture, acting ridiculous, compliments, goosebumps, hot breath, the shake in your voice, cigarette smoke.

Yeah, I definitely miss falling in love.

Fuck is the poetic expression of the unsayable soul.
It contains multitudes within itself,
as though every human thought of extreme
can be uttered succinctly within its four definite letters
which will not be uttered here, for
this speaker is not attempting to broach
a higher sense of being within the lines
of this simple stanza or paragraph.

I’m not going to lie; I feel incredibly stupid writing this. At this point in my life, you are nonexistent. Well, existent, but not yet to me, at least as far as I know.

The point is that sometimes I’ll catch myself wondering exactly how it’ll happen. The emotional stampede of certainty/confusion/happiness/heart wrenching pain that accompanies falling in love with someone so entirely.

I wonder what kind of story it will be. Maybe this slowly building thing that turns from friendship to unconditional love? Perhaps it will be an unrequited romance that has me either a.) sobbing uncontrollably into my pillow at odd hours of the night or b.) being completely oblivious while I break your heart, our relationship being a string of  miscommunications until we finally, finally settle things. Or will it be a story of utmost passion, with us confusing hate for infatuation, irritation with adoration? 

I wonder what you’ll be like. Will you not eat your crust when you think no one’s looking? Will you like very posh things? Will you secretly love the smell of old books? Would you put up with my crazy obsession with singing along to musicals in the car? Will you wear only white socks? 

As long as we don’t finish each other’s sentences. I hate that. 

One thing I know for sure is that, once it happens, I’ll never forget. Even when I’m so old I can’t remember my own middle name, my head will be full of random facts about the first boy I fell in love with. 

I sip on intricacies that I thought I lost in my runaways. I try to hide the fact that I can see you everywhere, that I could be twelve million miles away and trace your echoes still. I wish and miss for the days I could pluck out a laugh from you. Now I just catch the leftovers that everyone else resonates. I thought I was a mountain, but maybe I am just the wind. Easily lost and easily unseen. I could be everywhere, I could be nothing.

And when it rains, the drops carry your name inside of them. They lightly tap at my window, reminding me of you with each little sound. They reflect your face and the gray skies remind me of days we spent inside this bed, arms and legs intertwined. My hair a mess and you’re wearing your old high school shirt. We ate when we want to and drift in and out of sleep. I woke up with your lips all over my skin, and from there our bodies dove right into each other’s. When we were finished there were no need for words, you just stared into my soul, as the day turned to night, the hours passed us by without a care in the world for either one of us.