i want the kind of love that falls over you like whisper singing…
slowly sinking into your chest
the smell of your body, pressed into my cheek
i don’t care if my arm falls asleep
don’t ruin this blinking second in time.
the kind of love that sneaks up on you
in the middle of the night
as i lay awake, wondering, are you awake, too?
talking to myself in my head
talking myself out of saying anything.
my eyes are open but it’s dark — i can’t see anything
are your eyes open too?
are you sitting there next to me,
our bodies wrapped up together, with your eyes open, too?
i want the kind of love that lays in the grass
you do, well — whatever it is that you do
and i lay on my stomach, with my feet up, ankles twisted
toes fondling one another
pen in hand
journaling, journaling, journaling.
i realized today that i quit writing when i learned how to deal with the struggle.
it’s so much easier to write when you’re angry
when you’re hurt
when your heart has been crushed.
but when things are kind of okay…
when what used to be this monumental big deal struggle
has been reduced to a blip on my radar…
when i’m in a pretty okay place —
where do i find inspiration then?
it’s thinking of this.
of whoever you are
out there, someplace…
in the dark,
with your head on your pillow,
sleeping in the center of your bed
but with your eyes open,
you’re wondering if my eyes are open too.