I wish I were everything, even then, I hope it’s never enough.
I find it difficult to keep things unpenned. To hide a half of my excruciating whole.
If I talk about love- then I am feeling all that’s white turning red where I change all my angles to catch near glimpses of this masterpiece.
If I talk about love- then I am walking beside in every tentative and immeasurable step; an optional path now a marked destination.
If I talk about love- I am using my height to look down, using my crouch to look up. I am a man who knows he can alter (never correct) his posture to appear taller. Cuz he’s pushed himself down for so long that he couldn’t get any smaller even if he tried.
He knows what small is.
Small is being afraid of the next big leap. A leap as threatening as a cliff-side. Every edge and extreme. A long tumble down to choppy waters below.
I never said I’m not afraid of pain, I just don’t fear it quite as much as I do falling in love.
I know there was a time I lived without knowing what it meant at all.
We are trying to simulate the first few seconds of the universe here- The blackness before the stellar big bang. No suns of existing. No developed moons. No civilized green. No growing bravely yet. It begins in the corners of all 4 cardinal directions. The sweep of promising seeds, the few that actually do survive storm.
Every time we fall in love anew, we forge a new world. New maps. New wars and times of peace. Forceful colonization. Treason and treaties. Unpleasant gods. Myriad lands. Boasting strange and exquisite diversities.
And with all its nefarious and malignant, its still a beautiful… beautiful… beautiful thing, wouldn’t you agree?