poetic

I have a flair for the poetic.

I have a flair for the poetic, and I am drawn to the way your fingers stack on mine perfectly, like they were made just to fit from the start.

I am drawn to the beauty in a drug addict, no matter what the drug is. I am captivated by the way one thing can control somebody’s whole life. I am intrigued with the way that a word can make you cry if it is put in the right string. I am impressed with a stream of consciousness that begins with you and ends with just the word “empty.” The two are nearly synonymous.

I have a knack for things that will hurt me.

I have a knack for things that will hurt me, and I am drawn to the way my name rolls off of your tongue like the beads of water condensing on the lip of your daddy’s can of beer.

I am drawn to the beauty in a broken human, no matter how long it’ll take me to fix him. I am captivated by the way one single person can draw you in closer and closer until you two melt into each other. I am intrigued by the way that a finger, when dragged across the skin of your wrist, can raise goosebumps and awaken something inside of you that feeds solely on companionship and compassion. I am impressed with a man who can turn pink warm to the touch, and fire sweet to taste. The two are mostly allegory.

I have an aptitude for love.

I have an aptitude for love, and I am drawn to the way your hand hasn’t left the small of my back since the war against all things alluring, always guiding me.

I am drawn to the beauty in a man whose heart only knows the beat of my own, no matter what different cadences wander into his life. I am captivated by the way one moment in your life can lead to another until all that’s left is your best friend and the kitchen sink. I am intrigued by the way that a fifteen minute phone call can save you from the cracks in the foundation of your soul. I am impressed with an undying need to save each other, acting as lifeboats in the blaring nothingness that always seems to find its way back in. That was wholly a metaphor.

I have a dying wish, and that is to move on with life in a way that sets fire to anyone that ever disbelieved. It is a means by which I can travel between dimensions and galaxies and time zones, and I refuse to believe that happiness is unattainable. Love brings pain, and pain brings all things poetic. I have a dying wish, and that is to always cherish our shadows.