dear jess,
the presence of my most intimate soul and reasoning, feeling and drowning of tears will always be written in the hard to swallow lump in my throat. It will neither have the capability to write, express or explain itself in its entirety.
Two worlds crash as it frequently does. And as always the lump of reasoning hides itself, but enough to tell itself to never totally give itself up emotionally.
Sometimes I think I never know what I want and most of the time I let all reasoning go and follow my emotions, forever sworn to do that which my heart deserves, that which comes without judgement or resentment, that which eyes see different from the world, from friends, from family, that which some people call the eyes of love.
Just once when you stop guarding your heart, just once when you stop imagining that you are strong, just then you become vulnerable…
As the lump turns to mock at people in love, people who profess eternal commitment, the lump comes out, get stuck and realizes the man sitting at the corner with a cigarette in his hand, social taboos, spiritual impossibilities and yet he is smiling at her.
He looks at her with those possibly what they call, eyes of love.
She looks back. With tears.
Too much symbolism. Too little time.
crushed,
jess
the presence of my most intimate soul and reasoning, feeling and drowning of tears will always be written in the hard to swallow lump in my throat. It will neither have the capability to write, express or explain itself in its entirety.
Two worlds crash as it frequently does. And as always the lump of reasoning hides itself, but enough to tell itself to never totally give itself up emotionally.
Sometimes I think I never know what I want and most of the time I let all reasoning go and follow my emotions, forever sworn to do that which my heart deserves, that which comes without judgement or resentment, that which eyes see different from the world, from friends, from family, that which some people call the eyes of love.
Just once when you stop guarding your heart, just once when you stop imagining that you are strong, just then you become vulnerable…
As the lump turns to mock at people in love, people who profess eternal commitment, the lump comes out, get stuck and realizes the man sitting at the corner with a cigarette in his hand, social taboos, spiritual impossibilities and yet he is smiling at her.
He looks at her with those possibly what they call, eyes of love.
She looks back. With tears.
Too much symbolism. Too little time.
crushed,
jess
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