You will never know this

My words of you are letters I never sent. You will never know how many letters I've forced together to paint your face through them. You will never feel the emotions I attach to each paragraph. You will never read the pages that I've stained with my tears. You will never realise that the most beautiful of letters are letters that spell out your name. You will always be deaf to my unspoken thoughts I've engraved into each inch of the papers. You will never know how numb my fingers become when they clench the pen after every sentence that calls out to you. You will never know how many times I've ripped the novels I wrote to you. You will never understand that destroying my words will never destroy my memories. You will never know.. you simply will never know. 

Maybe..

Maybe she's blind because all the places she's been to have your face drawn against their walls.  Maybe she's deaf because all the songs spell out your name; no matter what symphony or note she focuses on. Maybe she's heartless because she's numb to everyone around her but you. Maybe she's stupid because she only loses hold of her sentences and words around you. Maybe she's lost because she can only find herself in maps of you. But then maybe, just maybe.. she's just endlessly in love with you.

I need you

I need a real person, I need a real story and not a fantasy from disney. A prince charming is not what I desire; for he is a man that doesn't remember the face of his princess. Fairy godmothers aren't what I want; for they are only flawed humans that only grant wishes with expiration dates. A vibrant ball gown isn't a dress that would fit me; for it is only a beautiful mask that will cover my flaws. A tiara won't blind reality; for it is only a lie created to intrigue you. A famous love story doesn't interest me; for it is only a fictitious rehearsed plot. I don't need any of these myths so many people choose to believe. What I truly need is you.

Days

There are days where I can't smile. There are days where I can't laugh. There are days where I can't breathe. Every other day is rehearsed. Every other second is plotted. But there are days I forget I act. There are days where I am naked. There are days where my emotions are written over my face. There are days where my thoughts are painted on my skin. There are days where my eyes can only see the darkness. There are days where my skin burns of the fire that burns within. There are days where I can no longer be me. There are days where everyone can see every last inch of me. There are days my voice is stolen. There are days my instincts are forgotten. There are days where I wish I could be free. But in reality, there always will be these days. These days are me. These days will never leave. These days will kill me. 

You know it best

You know how each fire burns when a loved one leaves you, and so you promise you will always stay no matter what. You know how many daggers are sliced into your skin when someone betrays you, and so you promise you will always be loyal and kind. You know how empty your insides feel when you are stripped away of every bit of your pride and dignity, and so you promise you will always give all of you away voluntarily and not steal any part of anyone in return. You know how silent it becomes even when you're not alone, and so you promise to always keep everyone else company. You know how it aches when your skin hasn't been touched, and so you promise to always be loving to everyone you treasure. You know how hard everything could be, and so you promise to make everything easy for everyone that means the world to you. You know how blind to evil you can become, and so you promise to be their eyes so they could always see. You always know how it feels because you've allowed yourself to feel every last bit of pain. You promised to protect them; your promises are lost for people who don't love you back; your promises become every part of you but no part of them; you feel every fire, every dagger, ever sting and you give away your smiles, your time, your love and warmth... just because you know how it feels and because you know it would hurt you far much more if they ever felt the same pain too.

Love to me

Love to me is someone who calls you up randomly during the day to check up on you. Love is when someone sends you treats to your doorstep for no reason. Love is good mornings and good nights daily no matter where you are and what the time zone is. It's when someone shows you they're constantly thinking of you. It's when you find their names in places they've never been and see their face in books they've never read. It's when you dream of them from songs and movies that trigger the memories of them. Love is when you forget what pride ever meant because all you worry about is their wellbeing. Love is when you'll steal your own smile off of your face and promise to give them every smile you'll ever have. It's when you promise them the best of you and vow to never shed your worst to them. It's when you take all of the weight they carry till your own back aches. Love is when you don't remind them of their faults and constantly promise them that they're more than perfect. It's when you let them go if it means it's better for them in the long run. It's when you vow to make them happy no matter what, even if it means you'll end up being depressed. It's when you allow them to leave and come back just as they please to give them the comfort they need. It's when you listen to their voice for hours and hours complaining about silly things, but you remain by their side, showing how each word that leaves them is more important than anything else in this whole world. Love is when you give yourself away, you surrender all of you to them even if they didn't ask you to; love is when you become completely entitled to them, so entitled that everyone else don't just blur out of your vision, but they ultimately disappear and all you see, breathe, touch and smell is them. Life becomes them. And without them, life isn't worth living for. Love is you and when there's no you, I forget what love is. 

A writer

I believe writers are the most experienced when it comes to putting themselves in someone else’s shoes. A writer creates people and worlds that don’t exist; they force themselves to live anywhere that isn’t here and they become anyone that isn’t them. They lose themselves in their own life of fiction and forget any fragments that have anything to do with reality. They recreate themselves for readers who are hungry for another life that isn’t their own; hungry for another person that isn’t them. You can find a writer’s own blood and tears in their words; you can taste the saltiness of their tears behind each letter and breathe the pain in their blood after each page. How many more times does a writer have to live in someone else’s shoes until they are able to find their own? Non of the shoes fit the soles of their feet and they are forced to end each story with a finale,. They hunt for the next pair of shoes that may fit better; they hope for another place that may feel a little more like home. But in reality, a writer can never stay, a writer doesn’t have a home, a writer clings to their heart filled words and not to an empty house. A writer is always turning onto the next page after the last one was been filled… and with that, a writer could never die when their pages of words live past their beating heart. 

What's wrong with me?

I can’t quite figure out what’s wrong with me, maybe it’s the fact that my eyes can’t see or that my heart can’t feel. Or maybe it’s that my instincts have drowned or my mind can’t seem to make a sound. All these emotions that inhabit me steal the logic I’ve taken years to build, I wish I could say that it was funny or ironic whenever this happens but whenever this happens it’s catastrophic. It’s a different person each week, each month, each year; they all are delivered with different names and faces but share the same lies and excuses. They tell me I should have known, they tell me I’ve been through this before, they tell me I should have been smarter, wiser, and stronger. But each and every time the person pulls out a gun to my head or a knife to my throat, whenever they pour me with words that hurt, I look to them with sincere eyes and think to myself: I can’t quite figure out what’s wrong with me, maybe it’s the fact that my eyes can’t see or my heart can’t feel. Or maybe it’s that my instincts have drowned or my mind can’t seem to make a sound..

Stay away

Don't take a step closer there are thorns on my skin that you can't see, and if you risk to touch me you might become just as broken as me. Don't try to take these thorns apart they're here to keep me together, even if it might mean I'll be alone forever. If you try to free me I'll only fall; these thorns were built to hurt anyone who tries to come and crash down my wall.

My favourite part.

My favourite part is the silence. During that moment no rehearsed words inhabit my ears nor do the words cloud my thoughts; there is only you and me in that exact moment. There is only the way your lips twitch before they draw themselves into a small smile; there is only the movement of your dark pupils until they meet mine; I can count the shades of grey and browns in your eyes and the deep lines painted over your skin and that bump-oh yes that bump that you hate so much but I can’t help but love. It may have given your nose a slight shape of a mountain’s but it’s another part of your beautiful flesh. In the silence I see you, I don’t hear you, I don’t hear myself, I don’t hear nor see anyone else; in the silence there is only you; there is only you being watched by me, and in that silence I am lucky enough to watch the most beautiful movie I can ever watch in a lifetime.