She

Magic is her middle name.
And rarely, she plays by the rules of the game.
Rumbles of leaves sing to her everyday.
“Junk is art,” she used to say.
On the fragile phase, she hid.
Repeating “I am not a kid.”
Iridescent lights flash between her eyes above,
Encased by grief is the girl who has never been in love.

((suggested song with this vibe: Georgia by Vance Joy))
(Image from http://www.grafolio.com)

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Every Moment of It Shined

His pillows smelled like fresh laundry. The way his sheets lingered over me makes me think about rubbing pearls on your skin and how it leaves you feeling revitalized, slightly airy. We lay awake at 1 in the morning, unable to rest. Our heads were facing away from each other but our bodies touched. There was a small night lamp shaped like a tree that hangs near the door, on the far side of the room. On his side.

His lips are made out of faultless curves. I wonder if he has ever gotten the feeling of wanting so badly to kiss someone. I wonder if that someone is me. I turn around. Trace the length of his back. His body tensed up, surprised. A minute later, he watched me watch him hold both of my hands, facing me.

A hand cups my right cheek.

“Hey,” a voice said.

The room suddenly seemed so little, I must have fallen asleep. My eyes closed for a second, adjusting to the darkness. My chest felt heavier… his voice must have awakened me (literally and figuratively). He played with the strands of hair that fall on my face and tucked it behind my ear. He smells like vanilla, I kept thinking to myself.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

He looked up, looked at me, and smiled.
Oh, god.
Dimples.

“You,” he said, still smiling.

I kissed him, once. Just to satisfy my craving for his lips. “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” I said.

“Still, you like being lied to.”

“Elaborate…?”

“Like, when I told you I didn’t love you,” he said. “you were smiling.”

“That’s because you’re a terrible liar, I knew—”

“You knew it the whole time,” he finished.

I smiled.

He put his leg above mine, bear-hugging me. I shifted my body to come closer to him and pressed myself against his chest. I inhaled everything about him, not wanting to let go. We stayed like this for a while (we could stay like this forever).

“I’m thinking about how this world works, with all its monotonous twists and turns,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

I stared at the rise and fall of his lashes, unblinking. “I’m thinking about how we met—and grew, together,” he continues. “And how guilty I am not to see through you right away. Goddammit. You have the most beautiful soul. Even if sometimes you like to pinch my nonexistent arm muscles, talk in your sleep, and like to tell me if I’m being a little self-centered, which I am most of the time, as a matter of fact… You’re my favorite person. I’m a liar, and you know it, but now I’m thinking about telling the truth. The whole truth.

“I like to write about you,” he said.

A pause.

“I’m thinking about writing about you again, and how I would name it. How about ‘Every Moment of It Shined’? Does it sound a little out of place? Hey, most of the time I’m not this expressive, so think of yourself as a lucky woman. Wait—how about…” and he went on and on.

It was months later when I realized what he really meant.
He was thinking about writing a eulogy.

(image from Pinterest user Behance)

Dear future husband

I do not waste my time and energy on useless conversations, love. Talk to me about your fears. Or what keeps you going. Tell me about your dreams, your thoughts, and your eyes. How do you like to see things through them? Tell me the first time you were able to forgive yourself. Tell me a story, a good story. Maybe about a little boy who fell in love with painting and never stopped. Or a teenager with that fucking fear of asking a girl out. Or that “live in the moment” kind of man who stepped out of his comfort zone raising a middle finger at life.

See, I crave long and intimate conversations at 1:58. But not the kind that makes you want to have sex. I have my own definition of intimacy.
I want to hear what you think. I want to feel the warmth of your soul. I want to unravel you without being naked.
Take me to an art museum and then stare at me like I’m a masterpiece.
Kiss me while I’m in the middle of saying something.
Tell me if I’m being a pain in the ass.
Pick fights with me, spoil me, drag me to the roof and convince me how important it is to see how beautiful the stars are tonight.
Handle my feelings with care and I will love you forever.
Give me your heart and in return,
I will give you
my word.

 

(photographer yet unknown)

I Will Never

No matter how much the wait stings
or how much you annoy me
or how often you try to kid around just to make me laugh
I will never
ever
tell you
that I love you
because by that time
you would have known it already
or guessed, maybe
you will smile
and wonder what it feels like to be held
by the universe
and I,
I will smile back.
For that will be the moment
that you
will have completely known
that the you you are now and the you you will be
is loved
by me.

(Photographer yet unknown)

As soft as the sun that sets

Pinned to my heart are the vines that still glow,

The right of wrongs that manages to grow.

Two marbles lying on a soft leaf bed,

Between the last streak of words left unsaid.

And in the boulevard of broken dreams

Your words were what you used at best, it seems.

We were trapped in a world of games and bets.

But your lips… They’re soft as the sun that sets.

Those touches spread like wildfire all around

As if all my bones are dislocating.

This is an opera I’d love to see

As my eyelashes flutter secretly.

We are but feral creatures trapped inside,

Torn with all the feelings we cannot hide.

(artwork by Soltreiss)

The emerald circle

I examine the minuscule emerald circle that hangs slightly beside his portrait.
My fingers try to move around it and above it.
But they fail to click.
I don’t know how many seconds have passed.
Has it been minutes? Hours?
This staring contest with the emerald circle gets tougher. My hands shiver at the thought of his name popping out of my chat box. I try to get some air to free myself. My feet seem to know my signals because I noticed that I’m already standing up. One foot in front of the other, I tell myself.  Don’t let a green dot take over your feelings. Keep your shit together.
Ding.
I let out a squeal. I fail to notice my excitement until I find myself in front of my screen again. Is he the one who sent me a message? What would I do if it’s him? Would he say hi? Would I greet him back if he does?
A name pops out of the bottom right corner. My heartbeat goes faster and my throat becomes dry. I remember one time I saw him walking in my direction. His eyes were so focused, always calculating. When he passed me by, I froze. It’s not every day the hem of our shirts brush against each other.
That was on the same level of my feelings now.
I glance at the name.
I feel like I’ve been ripped apart to many pieces. I shake my head. I suddenly become nauseous. I touch my left palm to make sure I’m still alive. I’m OK, am I not? I’m not empty, but I do feel like something’s missing.
No,
It’s not his name.
I remember I shouldn’t have had feelings for him in the first place. This is an odd mixture, after all. I’m just going to continue my ephemeral catastrophe. That’s the only thing I’m capable of when it comes to him; to look at his name on my screen and hope that he’ll say something to me. But obviously, he never does. I’m so disturbingly pathetic.
The emerald circle fades beside his name.
I realize I’ve been observing for too long, and now is the time to stop. I feel a twinge in my pulmonary muscles as his name vanishes. He logged out without saying anything to me. I guess I’m just not that important to him.
Never was, never will.

(artwork by Andrej Mashkovtsev)