love letter to the future

It’s three in the morning and I can’t sleep. Not because I’m not tired, but because I don’t want to. Because my head is filled with thoughts of you – fragments and feelings, touches and tastes. Dreams can’t compare to that.

It’s funny, the way you’ve affected me. You’ve written all over my heart. In ink. Unerasable, unchangeable. And now the ink is spilling out of my fingers, onto the page, in messy words that just keep trying to tell the perfect story. And I’ll keep trying.

I know I’m by myself right now. And (to state the obvious) nobody really likes being alone. But my heart’s covered in your ink, and my notebooks are filled with your story, and I’m going to take a deep breath. And smile. I’ll face my life with eyes full of sky and a bag full of dreams, and I’ll shine so brightly that you won’t be able to miss me. And if you don’t find me, I’ll find you.

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when dreams become real

The clouds were purple – swirly and uneven, like they’d been painted with watercolors. Wind whistled roughly through the trees, twisting and turning its way through the woods until it found what it was looking for – a young, puzzled girl.

She looked around slowly. Her hair was blowing messily around her face, but she wasn’t cold. Just confused. She wasn’t sure what to do now that she was here.

An owl hooted softly above her.

The girl felt a slight tug on her hand. Glancing down, she saw a bright red string tied tightly around one of her fingers. It trailed off into the woods, out of her sight. And suddenly she knew what to do.

Ravens (three of them) flew slowly over the trees.

She felt the leaves crinkle under her bare feet as she walked, following the string. With every step she took the wind blew harder, as though the anticipation was too much for it to bear. The girl walked more quickly, unable to peel her eyes away from the thread.

‘Faster, faster, faster,’ breathed the wind.

Her breath became rapid, urgent, as she started running. With each step she pulled the string a little tighter, coming closer and closer to whatever was on the other end.

And suddenly she stopped.

The small remaining bit of red string trailed along the ground, and up his leg, until it reached his finger. And there it was tied, tightly, just as it was on her own hand. Their eyes met.

Not a single creature moved.

Slowly, slowly, they walked towards each other. There were only a few inches of string left, now. They raised their hands, and tentatively laced their fingers together. Electric shocks sparked against their skin, and thunder rolled.

And the woods whispered ‘Finally.

wash away the metaphors

You drip sarcasm like caramel – too-sticky, too-sweet. Your face isn’t a mask (that would be awfully clichéd for someone like you). It’s bitter and hard, but you always let your emotions show through. And so your emotions are bitter and hard.

You spit words like acid and make them sweet with your sugarcoated smile – but sugarcoated acid will still burn out your insides.

Your eyes flash like lightning and you can growl like thunder and hiss like a snake and

yet

you don’t scare me. I smile at you and you smile back – tentatively, like a child. I sit with you and you don’t move away, you stay comfortably next to me. I talk to you and you actually listen, and with my words I start to wash away your sticky-sweet exterior.

When you start to talk back your words aren’t acid (sugarcoated or not), they’re clever and funny and kind. You laugh and play, your face beginning to soften. And when you finally (finally) say I love you

you don’t sound like anything except yourself.