I feel all the potential energy of the world crowded up inside my heart like the potential energy of a leaf falling from the height of a cloud. How at the top it is light but when it lands the whole world will shake. All of the what ifs and could haves are settled inside of me, building up energy from being contained. They sit there waiting to fall.
Photography by Ileana Skakun: https://unsplash.com/search/heart?photo=dNjMqj4emkc
The thing about you is that
You're a runner
Your legs are long and spindly
And your body built for moving fast
You have no patience, no time
For slowing down and staying a while
Which is why when you turned on your pillow
Looked me in the eyes and said
"I really really really like you"
I knew you had fallen fast
But that you may never fall deep
The thing about us is that
We were only ever in passing
Our story was a treat
You wanted to keep tasting
Because it was so sweet
But it would never keep us full
The thing about me is that
I don't know if I'll ever be full
I have a deepness inside
That may be infinite
I'm not sure because I have yet to find the bottom
So the thing is
This was never meant to be
But it still means something to me.
When you feel the emptiness of the air on your skin. When the quiet makes a space feel so daunting and elusive. When all the eyes turn to you and you are silently given the seemingly impossible task of filling the air. Synthesizing all of the buzzing pieces of your mind into letters, forming those letters into words and articulating those words into sentences, statements, paragraphs. It’s witchery, trickery, an art that you have yet to master. You stumble in the emptiness feeling it pushing its weight down on you, crushing you. You start, but falter, blood begins to rush to you cheeks, as your body tries to focus all of its energy on facilitating the transfer of the inner and outer worlds. The result is a concentration of blood in the outer capillaries, a beaming red face, a faltering stammer, and an empty space.
The moment when you realize you’re in love, only after it has been lost. When it becomes clear that the only person you have loved and can imagine yourself loving has left your life forever. You had the perfect person. Not a person who is perfect, but one who fills the spaces that you leave empty and loves the spaces that you fill. You didn’t realize because you were scared, you distanced yourself, you carefully crafted a tall barrier to protect your delicate heart. You needed to be safe more than you wanted to experience love. And so it was wasted. It is the type of love that will only ever be an aftertaste, the type whose sweetness will never be enjoyed but will only be experienced with bitterness. It’s the only type of love I have ever known. It was young, naive, immature love that was brushed aside by adjectives, but now I am older, wiser, and more mature and I realize that it was real. I suppose I’ll continue to taste the bitterness until something else sweet comes along.