I wonder what came over me for me to fly six hours to another country in a heartbeat. Now on my way back I simply cannot put it together.
There’s a fine line between hope and expectations, like the line between excitement and nervousness, sometimes our minds fail to grasp which is which.
My mind, for example cannot tell the difference, I would feel nauseous either way; whether it’s the excitement before a date or the nervousness before an exam.
I believe I fall in love easily, no, I fall in love with the idea of love easily.
I fell in love with man who spends most of his time hidden yet helping the world to be a bit better, I would describe him as all the good in the world (no, he’s far from perfect, for one thing he’s always late) his soul and his very being seems to be full of light.
We both were never anyone’s first choice and people fall for us just by seeing the surface but none can accept what lies in the depths. We are similar and different at the same time
I wonder what it would feel like to have his lips against my forehead. Would he ease this restless soul of mine?
I was drawn to his light like a moth, I guess we know what becomes of the moth? He is a light I cannot attain no matter how much i chase it, he is very much like the sun.
The darkest corners of his mind fascinates me, his perceived demons seems to compliment mine perfectly, his words resonates within my flesh and bones. His thoughts and mine are the same side of the coin, how we perceive the world and it’s beauty and madness.
We are both constantly looking for something inexplicable while struggling with a haunting loneliness and emptiness. Sometimes I wonder if we held eachother close enough, we would be able to fill each others emptiness; two negatives becoming a positive.
He is like the moon, lighting up my world during the darkest hours. But would a wolf’s howls ever reach the moon?
At times this love is of lightness in the mind and soul, perhaps like a weightlessness or floating, this love brings forth a hidden darkness. The temptation and the need to feel another’s weight against mine, pushing me down with a heaviness pinning me to the ground, a love of the mind and body.
Perhaps Milan Kundera was wrong but it is the lacking of lightness or heaviness that makes being unbearable.