Droplet of Honesty

 

Here I am, distributing little droplets of honesty.
Where I decided I do not like to lie or bend the truth and I wish I could tell you those things that I know I should not; because we are not close, not like that. But I’m a yearner and I remain so – forever, and probably more. Longer, for the longest time, I’ll keep on craving just a bit more than I can get. More than you can give – and it’s no fault of yours. Or mine. Perchance no fault at all, just the way things are.

Of touch – like kisses soft on my hair, or my fingers tangled in your hair, gentle, un-rough, because I have never laid eyes on someone more beautiful. And it will hurt me so, when I want something more – more time, more smiles, more this, more that. More of everything except maybe the strings that I choose not to attach. And not for fear that it would be anything short of good, but for fear I’ll be lost in the yearning I bestow upon myself day by day, stronger with each sunrise, stronger each time the moon returns to its full size.

April, oh April, with my coffee shop – one I never go to anymore, yet I think of so often, and when I think of it, I see your face, flawless face. Oh, endearment, such a lawless place; try as I might, I can find no flaw, except the flaw in me which wants to see you more. The one that tries to abandon my responsibilities only to sneak a peek.

 I’m sure I’ve never felt this way, but I’ve been in love before.

But it’s the art – the music, the studies, the little meaning behind everything.
Oh, tell me I’m pretty, just once again, so my soul may rest upon the blossoms blossoming upon your lips when your lips meet mine, soft, soft and kind. And I don’t know why, nothing’s ever felt quite so right – but I’m selfish, and I always want more, and when I want, I cannot help but to give. What great cruelty brought upon my being to hold back all that which I wish to say, to do, to feel. And if nobody gets second chances, how come we’re back here, in this piece of peace, hidden in those little glances, written with those little lips.

I like even the way you write your letters – how silly of me to notice them, their darling shapes.
Oh you remind me of me, yet you’re much more, much much more. Similarly different. Noone has ever not hurt. And now you come along after months begone and you don’t hurt. Careful, I’ve never been so free before.