You know the light at the end of the tunnel… you know that shit everyone keeps promising? No, I won’t promise you that. I can hold your hand, that’s easy. I can wrap myself around you as we twirl into a never-ending black hole… I’m willing to do that. I can’t promise you happiness unless I’m the happiness you need.
If you find yourself skinned to the bone, scraping your knees against the floor, I’ll take my flesh off and wrap it around you…
We might never get out of this tunnel, or we might stumble onto a dead-end. But in those dark corners, I’ll build us a room big enough to fit our intertwined bodies.
I’ll drain myself to the core and free my soul. I will break every essence of its existence and transform it into stardust. I’ll find a way to form a star out of my dust and light up your world.
I can’t promise you happiness… but I can break in order to become your light.
I can’t describe the joy I feel when you’re this close. When we’re breathing the same air. When you talk to me, when I hear your voice… and my name on your lips. It’s beautiful. I feel beautiful when you look at me. When your eyes decide to carve a memory of me…
That day, when you asked what my name was, I couldn’t stop smiling. I swear I couldn’t.
I keep envisioning those eyes of yours… I try to let their warmth seep from my memory into my body, into my veins… until it’s embracing my heart.
I keep retracing lips that were never kissed, wondering how yours would feel against mine.
I keep running my hands across my arms, wondering how firm your grip is, wondering how easily you can lift me… wondering how safe I would feel….
This isn’t about a heart skipping a couple of beats, nor it is about the flutters I always get when I think about you…
More than the typical romance novel shit…
This isn’t a typical attraction.
I’m afraid this might be an addiction.
Addiction to your warmth, your strength, your lovely scent, and your sweet voice.
You make me beautiful.
Your proximity, my addiction, makes me beautiful.
As human beings, we enjoy the near-death experiences. We enjoy staring death in the eye. It gives us a rush, a high, a feeling of invincibility.
We enjoy jumping from a plane. We enjoy the air slamming in our face, but we have a parachute. We can stop death. We can enjoy the feeling of free falling and letting go, but, right before our feet touch the earth, we slow down. We stop and float down gently. We don’t want to die. We just want to experience those moments before death occurs. We want to experience the adrenaline in our veins taking over our entire being. For once in our lives, we want to feel invincible because, really, we enjoy being vulnerable sometimes. We fall in love and expose ourselves. We either survive it or find ourselves on the path of self-destruction.
Like I said, we enjoy the moments before death. Yes, we enjoy love.
But, the aftermath… Well, we never consider it, and we don’t even have a parachute to stop it…
I never did expect them to come back. I thought I buried them deep enough that I knew they would never haunt me again. I never saw them coming.
I’m talking about the emotional shit I carried with me since I was a kid. I reached an age where I decided to ignore it. Get rid of it by burying it deep enough. I put on a happy face throughout my teens. Others believed me. I believed me. I believed me for so long.
Then I grew up. I really grew up, which brings us to now. That happy face has become a reflex. I carry it wherever I go.
But, then, then the night comes, and the happy face has no place there. I thought my baggage was gone. I thought I got rid of it years ago.
And that’s when it hits me and I cry. I shed tears with the shudders of my body. I tremble from within as my emotions resurface and I feel again. I feel everything and remember everything.
I thought I buried them deep enough, but I never thought they’d find their way out. They’re breathing now while suffocating me. Their hands on my throat. They’re screaming in my face telling me to feel them. They want to be acknowledged.
I close my eyes and let them all out. I cry fifteen years of tears and ignorance.
I thought I buried them deep enough, and I did. I just forgot to close the casket.