I Need You So Much Closer
Okay, so maybe I'm a hopeless romantic. Maybe I'm far too much of a poet at heart; maybe I dance in sonnets and rhyme to endless reason. Maybe I have built too many dreams in frivolity. Maybe I like it that way...I feel myself pulled in every single direction at once. I am on the wall and on the ceiling. I am floating...floating like the angel I've only captured in borderline misinterpretations.
Cinammon red apple. Stunning. Eyes like I've only imagined. Breath-taking. I am the hopeless boy on a hopeless fall. I am autumn in my descent; I am silent and screaming. A laugh that can break you in two. Amazing. You met me at a very strange time in my life. I can almost be free; I can almost talk uninhibited. I can almost forget boundary and release the 'me' I've missed so much.
I find myself struggling for words...I'm almost speechless in my fingertips. I am jumping and crying and breaking down for all the things I've only been able to daydream about. I'm dancing a million moonlit serenades to songs playing in my head - Miles Davis, or some Cole Porter - and I'm pulling myself together and picking myself apart. I am my mind searching for words and only pulling out a million repeating sentences. Oh, silly questions. So many silly questions.
I find myself on a Candyland maze of step forward and back - once again, my fate is decided by a fucking card with another color on it. I find myself pacing around in my head. This distance seems farther than ever before. My romanticism falters. I find myself trying to be creative and failing admirably. I find myself being the perfect nothing.
A scene ends, a movie begins. Improv your heart out; the script is simply thrown away in the realization of dismal failure. I have to have some sort of chance...I have to not be the only person here feeling this...this...what is this? Some indescribable sense of connection? Something rediculous? Something...real? Do I dare say, real? A chord rings out in dead silence. A perfect comfort rests quietly over the landscape. The mountain range of need sinks slowly into the sand. The humor of the situation. The deafening chorus of a thousand voices. Am I not alone here? I hope I am not.
I can always write beginnings. Only she can write endings.
Cinammon red apple. Stunning. Eyes like I've only imagined. Breath-taking. I am the hopeless boy on a hopeless fall. I am autumn in my descent; I am silent and screaming. A laugh that can break you in two. Amazing. You met me at a very strange time in my life. I can almost be free; I can almost talk uninhibited. I can almost forget boundary and release the 'me' I've missed so much.
I find myself struggling for words...I'm almost speechless in my fingertips. I am jumping and crying and breaking down for all the things I've only been able to daydream about. I'm dancing a million moonlit serenades to songs playing in my head - Miles Davis, or some Cole Porter - and I'm pulling myself together and picking myself apart. I am my mind searching for words and only pulling out a million repeating sentences. Oh, silly questions. So many silly questions.
I find myself on a Candyland maze of step forward and back - once again, my fate is decided by a fucking card with another color on it. I find myself pacing around in my head. This distance seems farther than ever before. My romanticism falters. I find myself trying to be creative and failing admirably. I find myself being the perfect nothing.
A scene ends, a movie begins. Improv your heart out; the script is simply thrown away in the realization of dismal failure. I have to have some sort of chance...I have to not be the only person here feeling this...this...what is this? Some indescribable sense of connection? Something rediculous? Something...real? Do I dare say, real? A chord rings out in dead silence. A perfect comfort rests quietly over the landscape. The mountain range of need sinks slowly into the sand. The humor of the situation. The deafening chorus of a thousand voices. Am I not alone here? I hope I am not.
I can always write beginnings. Only she can write endings.
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