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hpimaginethat · 7 years

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Preference 33: How He Confesses His Feelings

Requested by @bartons-never-miss. Thanks for the prompt I had lots of fun with this one. I think it’s pretty cute. And it’s the first fluff I have written in a while.

Harry

Harry had a rose in his hand with a note on it. he was just finishing the writing when you walked up to him in the Great Hall. He put the rose and note behind his back right away.

“OOO Who is the lucky girl Harry? Can I see the note before you give it to her?” You ask, and then add. “Just so you don’t give her something totally dorky.”

Your laugh a little, but Harry just shakes his head no and takes a step back. “N-no. It’s a secret. She wont know who it’s from and you don’t need to know what it says before I sent it to her. No one knows anything. Secret.”

He was being so un Harry. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Harry. I am one of your best friends. What could you be keeping a secret from me? Unless.... It’s for me?”

Harry begins to blush violently and refuses to raise his eyes from the floor. You gasp, “It is for me. Isn’t it?”

Harry took a deep breath before replying as he held the beautiful rose out to you. “Yes. I really like you Y/N. I have for a while, but I was nervous to tell you. Hermione helped with the rose, it changes colors. Here you go.”

You smile at him. “Oh Harry it’s beautiful. I wish there was something I could give you too. But I guess a kiss will just have to do.”

He smiled widely at you before the two of you shared a kiss.

Ron

You were taking notes in Muggle Studies. You really enjoyed the class, both because of the subject and the fact that your crush, Ron Weasley was in the class. Sometimes however interesting the day’s topic was you would zone out and start staring at Ron. You would quickly look away every time he looked at you. You felt like a third year, rather than the sixth year you were.

You zoned out once again on Ron and he caught you, but instead of looking away this time you just kept looking. You started making faces at each other from across the room and trying not to giggle too loud. Neither one of you wanted detention. You went on like this the whole class period. You didn’t think you or Ron could tell anyone anything about what happened in class that day if they asked. Luckily class was coming to a close and the Professor still hadn’t noticed the two of you ignoring the lesson. Or so you thought...

“So that is a book that is currently popular in Muggle culture. Apparently fans of Green’s novels like pain. Well this lesson is pretty much over. Just one more thing. Mr. Weasley, Miss. L/N I suggest you talk to each other about you obvious feelings for one another after class. Love is beautiful. And the rest of you life is a long time, and wether you know it or not it’s being shaped right now. So remember to take chances sometimes and know love is always a chance worth taking. Dismissed.” She smiled at the two of you as everyone began to gather their things.

It was the best advice either of you had gotten from a professor.

Fred

You and Fred had been best friends since you met on platform nine and three quarters before the train left for your first year. You had only grow closer over the years and that meant that for the past two years you had been harboring a massive crush on your best friend. And only the two of you couldn’t see the palpable sexual tension and romantic longing that sat between you at all times. The rest of the school knew you were in love with each other. But you were convinced it was all one sided after one night you asked Fred what he thought of love and he said. “I can’t wait to meet the girl I want to be with for the rest of my life. When I do the whole world will know it.”

He had already met you... so you figured he clearly wasn’t interested. it Absolutely broke your heart.

You were talking about that exact thing with a friend over lunch when someone shoved the Great Hall doors ope and shouted your name. You stood up and it was Fred. You waved slightly and he walked his way over, still yelling as he said. “It’s you Y/N. I don’t know how I didn’t realize it before. You’re it. The girl I want to be with for the rest of my life is you. And this is me, making sure the world knows that it’s always been you!”

As his little speech came to a close he was standing right in front of you, grinning like an idiot. You could hardly breath. That was better than anything you had ever dreamed. And before you could say anything he pulled you in and finally, finally kissed you. If you had been paying attention to anything other than Fred you might have heard everyone cheering. But love drown them all out.

George

You and George had been planning on this prank to get Fred and his girlfriend for months. The four of you were like peas in a pod, but the two of them had gotten the two of you first, so retaliation was the only option in your minds. You knew them like the back of your hands so the set up was hard, but you had to keep it very quiet and strike when they wouldn’t expect it.

It was finally time and the two of you sat in a small nook with the perfect view. Everything was set up and all you had to do was wait for your poor unsuspecting victims to walk right into your trap. It was taking too long.

“Where are the love birds anyway?” You asked.

George shrugged. “Probably having an improptu snog in a broom closet if Fred had any say in it.”

You both shuddered. Then you turned to George. “Gross. But I am a little jealous. I want what they have.” With you went unsaid.

George looked at you and nodded his agreement. Something in his face changed for a split second, before he dug in his pocket and pulled out a bit of paper that looked like it had been in there for more than a few days. He handed it to you.

You gave him a questioning look but opened the note. Inside it said “I sure think you’re beautiful Y/N.”

“Maybe. We could have that. If you want.” He said with a hopeful smile on his face. You nodded quickly before kissing him, no longer caring if the park went well or not.

Neville

You sat across from Neville in the Library. Professor Sprout had given the two of you some extra Herbology books to read because she knew that the two of you shared the love of magical plants that she did. So every Friday night the two of you would meet up and read and geek out together. You loved spending time with him and you were 99.5% sure that he had a crush on you, but he never said anything. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. You were pretty sure he had tried to tell you several times, but chickened out at the last second.

It was always the same he’d say something like, “Hey Y/N I gotta tell you something.”

Then you look at him with a smile on your face and wait for him to speak. He’d close his eyes and take a deep breath. Then fumble with a couple words and play with his fingers, before pushing a book in your direction and saying. “Look at such and such it had these properties and is only found on a tiny island that is nearly impossible to get to.”

You would pretend that you thought that’s what he had been talking about the whole time and let it go. But you had gotten tired of the same old show. So as everyone else filed out of the library because of the late hour you knew Neville would try to tell you again, and you decided this time it was going to go differently.

“Hey Y/N I gotta tell you something.” He said, then closed his eyes to take a deep breath. Only this time when he did that, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Yeah. I know. And guess what? I love you too.” You have never seen a bigger smile on his face.

Cedric

Cedric had been acting strange all day. This wasn’t just apparent to you either. When Hufflepuff’s Golden Boy goes from his cool, kind, confident self to fidigity, quite, and awkward from one day to the next students we bound to take notice. They whispered around the halls after he would pass.

“Did you hear? Cedric zoned out in potions today and his cauldron caught fire. Snape had to put him and the pot out. Cedric ended up having to go to the hospital wing so he could have his arm healed before Herbology.”

“Well when he finally got to Herbology he tripped and knocked over three of the second years’ mandrakes... it was a disaster. It’s so not like him, I wonder what’s wrong.”

These were the stories you were hearing as you walked to the Great Hall to find Cedric and ask him the same question. When you got there and asked he only looked at his hands and replied. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course. Let’s go down to the Black Lake.” So the two of you made your way, and as soon as the soles of your shoes hit the dark sand by the lake you turned to him. “Alright spill it. What going on with you today?”

“Well I am sure you heard all the stuff thats happened today, and-” He took a deep breath. “It’s because I am really nervous. I decided today was the day I finally confess my feelings, my love, and I am terrified that... that you wont feel the same way. I love you Y/N.”

“Oh Ced. You big dumb idiot. You knocked over Mandrakes and set yourself on fire for nothing. The whole school can see how much I love you.”

Oliver

It was no secret that lots of boys from all three schools participating in the Triwizard Tournament fancied you. But you hadn’t paid them much mind. Oliver Wood had come back this year to support Harry and to see some of his old school pals. You were a little younger than Oliver, but you and Oliver had been close when he was in school. Like two peas in a pod.

Since the announcement of the Yule Ball, you had been asked by several people to go with them. You weren’t sure who you should go with, so you’d ask Oliver if he knew anything about each perspective date. And every time without fail he would say you shouldn’t go with them. He never gave a reason however.

Eventually you got fed up with the same old answer. “Oliver, if you don’t think I should go with any of these guys then who should I go with?”

“Me.” He replied simply.

“And why exactly are you so much better than any of the boys who have asked me?” You asked in a sassy teasing tone.

“Because none of them are in love with you like I am.” He replied quickly and without thinking. Neither of you could believe what he had said, it was painted all over both of your faces. Shock quickly faded from you face however, and was replaced with a smile.

“Okay. I guess going to the Yule Ball with the boy who loves me as much as I love him is a pretty good plan.”

Draco

Draco had left a note on your bed saying to meeting him in the common room after everyone had gone to bed. You weren’t quite sure what your best friend wanted you to do that for, but you made you way there none the less. You arrived to a huge surprise.

The common room was covered in white rose petals, they coated the floor leading up to Draco, who was sitting at the grand piano under floating balls of light that glowed a soft gold color. You gasped and brought a hand up to your mouth. “Draco?”

He just patted the seat next to him, so you sat down as he began to play your favorite love song in the world. The lights above you dimmed slightly and the rose petals began to glow and dance around the room to the melody. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen, you could cry. As the song came to a close the petals floated back to the floor and spelled out ‘I love you, Y/N’.

Your eyes grew as big as saucers. Draco smiled at you sheepishly. “It’s true.” He whispered.

You cupped his face in your hands, then you whispered back. “I love you too, Draco.”

Then you kissed him softly, before asking him to teach you to play that song. He smiled and agreed. It was like a dream you didn’t have to wake up from.

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changingbirdpoems · 7 years

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poems about Julian going forward in time

aimed for what i hoped i wanted

but fell short and your shadows and your shellshocked morals drew me a picture of new Wanting impossible to escape.

first kiss

I don’t feel weird

I don’t know how I feel about it

All I know is I can still feel your tongue on my tongue

you taste so sweet

I want last night back

it’s difficult to say what is mine

your breath your words your heartbeat

your thoughts your smile in the moment?

I take what I don’t know and make it mean so much.

you have not been mine

and contrary to popular opinion

I understand and accept that

you will not be mine

and contrary to popular opinion

I know and expect that.

but

in the moment?

I swear you were mine and I was yours

and our breath our words our heartbeats

our thoughts our smiles were for each other

so fucking fly far away

because you’ve not going to leave here

after that night I’m more unsure

close the window I just want to feel your breath soft softly softer

there is too much fear of you caring a little of you never having been but not as much as with him and Different because you have a touch and a smile

Oh so different

I hold myself back from intimacy when it’s possible

Wistful is an understatement when I think of how much more that could have been, But I didn’t know, I was too unsure I lost myself but not to the moment. This is what you have left me with.

unexpected

After something that should change me I find myself cynical Where is my afterglow?

Well, it’s here only when I’m not.

mating rituals isolate species

There is so much we could make of this as the leaves are dripping with a ruined night my mouth has begun to taste like his the flavor in the transparent black is a discovery of bright.

There is so much we could take from there his hands are rougher than your words I didn’t know what to touch but his hair was mussed like my mind—we are not free, we are not birds.

There is so much we could remember car doors are wings but we are rooted in the moment clipped wings, in a sense, or frosted by December and unable to fly, but we can be wistful and we can lament.

I am here in America and I am in my room

pens a notebook a bed a door four walls

(not you)

I am missing something

it is very apparent as I feel alone and as if

it has been whole country since you touched me

I am here in our state and I am in my bed

sheets a comforter a frame a me two pillows

(not you)

something is missing

it is very apparent as I do not feel this empty

when you are here and you touch me

I am here in my town and I am in my mind

personalities confusion images words and imagination

I am thinking something

it is very apparent as I exist and your name is constant

and memories swirl like your breath when I touched you

I am here in my home and I am in my heart

arteries a muscle a strength and a life

there is so much here that changes

(like you)

oh god

the end

is in sight

where are my safety goggles

welcome back

A month passed much more quickly than expected How to measure? inches of rain, dying conversations, wasted time but not in minutes, this isn’t a fucking season of love and time is relative anyway.

mutually noncommital and more

no promises at all, but I am already looking forward. it feels like a memory, I have imagined it so many times. There’s an empty parking spot and it’s waiting for you. Silent, I am tremblingly careful to make no noise, and then your presence. parks at night, secret, dark, our habitat.

it is unclear now what is real and what is hope

I could make you fall

The harder I try to push you down, the safer I feel, the more I am enclosed by your arms: a feeling I long for of late. My laugh is strange in your mouth, but you are perfect on me.

let’s get lost

there is a taste to this spiderwebs, pinecones, trees, and wire fences? spiderwebs are reflections of what is always being created and how you cannot control something fragile. pinecones are just artsy observations, it’s all a laugh like the leaves against the sky that look like pools of water. trees are the only walls here in this forest of five roads collapsed in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel all. wire fences are filled with the curls of ivy and your fingers as you support this connection, so close that I rise with your breath.

texting is silly

it is funny how waiting for the vibration makes me insecure

see (the quiet in everything before summer is over and you are again too young for this empty quality of freedom we dance to and call escapism) you (who are here only to water your plants and kiss girls and wax philosophical and other such chores) later (a promise one learns to not trust).

early on

me, with my papers and you, with your high laugh and magnetic mischief

Desire rises and falls

behind classic novels and tiring worksheets, I emerge

our bodies know

For a few days, you are near, and for a few hours, you are close against plastic and barely hidden. My breath is so much more nervous, shaking with every freedom. Resounding against my palms, your heartbeat’s slower and instinct’s faster. This is me holding back. Daylight and deadlines hinder the progression of this that we want, but I realize that our bodies know it’s still summer.

third wheel

when kissing becomes a necessity

(almost a commodity)

there's little that can be stolen.

on a night when everything's contagious

and distance is in short supply,

words can become a solo effort.

if you aren't careful

you'll begin to care

and then when it's stopped being easy

your incompetencies will come out of hiding

and comparisons are inescapable

sick of hearing about, sick of seeing the face of who I hunted once this is nauseating while everyone else flutters around longing has passed but sadly I admit it will return as it did before, inexplicable

an apron dusted with flour, the dough is condensed and sticky air, chemistry really, molded by your hands. a flick of a tail and the whole building of ice has shattered, there is no time to melt. And if you ask me how I’m feeling, don’t tell me you’re too blind to see. Never gonna climb these stairs of appreciation when there is nothing at the top. I should have said something other than “happy,” although it did elicit a smile. The box of cracked wood is eroded by hands, the oils and pressures of years of being opened wearing down its engravings. There is a sound outside my window, like bells in the dead of summer. Shakespeare said it best when he said “Now, away!” Sometimes what looks like a spider is a hole on the wall that has been there for years. A mark in my house I should know, but still makes me look twice. Are you that spidery mark? Please do not come back in the snow and tell me that it is nice to see me. Grass survives everywhere, it is the most versatile and durable organism. an accented voice makes me think this, on my television with Never Before Seen footage that everyone has seen now. A slow day for the newsroom when my heart is spilling open. I thought about you on the way home today and how I am a fast learner. I thought about you and I thought about the work I had to do, and I thought about how I learned you faster than I did this equation. Learned you in a way that doesn’t matter. there’s a reason pretension is made up of “pre” and “tension.” Tension always follows when people are pretentious. sometimes the pretty ones do not win, and sometimes it is unclear who anyone is. Goodbye, my lover, goodbye my friend, James Blunt sounds like a horse all shaky and ridiculous like your breath Rolling to lie by your side, mask me, last chances. I have given you what you wanted from me. is that it.

Crawl in with me. I remember when that locker with pellet-like streams of light fit only me, and you kept me contained with musical instruments.

Upon Belatedly Reading Your Valediction

“Meaningless and used” is shatteringly accurate; those words a prophecy read too late. On the couple of cold days that you are here, instead of dialing your number I’ll remember how you think I’m too young to love but old enough to get you off. My silence will be the close. But it won’t and you’ll pull the door open every time because I’m weak and the way you want me is a drug. Sometimes there is nothing but the truth of how much I want you. A night spent sleepless and quiet thoughts of rhymes that bruise and separate you from caring. That’s it. I hope I leave you feeling meaningless and used.

A Sprout In Your Wake

What I hate the most is that you stole from my willing hands, And what clamors the loudest is that I do not regret,

after thought, the highs and lows of your enabled theft, because there are no treasures I have lost— they have simply been replaced;

As you ran, a seed fell out of your pocket, a creeping vine that I watered, enriched with my exhales and lost days within, enfolded.

With the progression of time the leaves will mold to my shape, stealing my breath in a way that is reminiscent of a past someone, with eyes quick to break and arms that swallow up.

some haiku in an absence

at least now I am aware that there is nothing that could feel like you in body and thoughts you will be the only one to have held me first and my hands will keep you imprinted in their grooves like my empty mouth calls out noiselessly as though there were ever a person who listened.

analyzing

unsure if I have been used or not define used; a simple concept but when attempting to pinpoint spins the grid, beep beep beep this alarm falls dangerously into the background of everyday sounds not perpetual, occasional pulling back into place, I once knew how this would go and prepared myself for both of our restlessness, approaching dauntingly like the law, which we aren’t exactly abiding by, although it’s a faded line that separates us - this is not something planned upon, it just breaks out claws reaching hungrily, maybe gentle if I stepped into this I have not been used, I suppose but still my mind switches to body heat

my first semblance of a poem in a while

i find myself to be the strangest colors raw brilliant curving under my fingernails, fending off contracts, handshakes, and other ways to bind one person to another. even the oldest books were written for eyes and hands, but my throat, will it see what lies just beneath veils of colorless, irredeemable noise? noise, which is only really air expressed it is in love with somebody it wants to change; that is where aches arise.

Half of what I say is meaningless But I say it just to reach you, Julian

I see the sidewalks lined with him, and I

place my foot as though a monster's in each crack, leaping like a child; I am a child, and so is his name Julian the child I envisioned as a child There are ferris wheels passing, and in each one Julian sits in the topmost car He is smoking and wearing that expression that disturbs me—the one that is almost loving and kind, the one I hate for him to make, the one he wears when he thinks he is being romantic.

Julian, Julian, oceanchild, calls me So I sing a song of love, Julian

And I jump back to how he is done, how he hopes he has left this place, how he has had the same Chemical Brothers album in his car for months and months Julian, in cadence with a Beatles song I sing a song of love to Julian, Julian does not blink because he thinks he's been around so long. He does not have the answers, he is still a child working things out. Oh, he is a man Julian, seashell eyes, windy smile, calls me So I sing a song of love, Julian

Asymmetrical eyes and the smallest spot on his shoulder where he can't feel my touch, or anyone's there was once a day where he said he just discovered he was not going to die, and I had so many questions but instead I only gave him a drawing I had made for his eighteenth birthday. Julian, windy smile, he calls me, and so I sing a song of love that he hears but is done giving energy. Julian, Julian, morning moon, touch me So I sing a song of love, Julian

His name hurts to hear and see When I cannot sing my heart I can only speak my mind, Julian

I have gone on standing, his thoughts vibrating into nothingness, as each time I decide that he can't break what isn't his half of what I say is meaningless and used, like what lies in his wake, as he hoped I remember how whenever we were out at night he had to pee in the woods, and how I always laughed, Julian! but I was speechless when he stopped kissing and hung suspended over me, asking How do you feel? Julian happy? When he came back from Europe and caught me unawares, in a store, with his little message, I smiled a loaded smile loaded with the friend I kissed when he was gone getting high, telling his friends the things that we did, and how he was my first, isn't that rich that's good, I wouldn't want you to not be happy. Julian, sleeping sand, silent cloud, touch me So I sing a song of love, Julian

he met me at the door and held me gently in my living room, with his arm in a blue sling and the construction worker in my kitchen How he made me want to touch until my hands fell apart I think I do not really hate that expression, it's just that it strikes me as a little insincere, and I wonder if it is the one he made for the girl he loved He did not go past my boundaries, I did, and I did not ask permission so I sing a song of love to Julian, who never called me but to say he was on his way or that he needed a place to park. He used to think of me, that's the thing calls me So I sing a song of love for Julian, Julian, Julian

and those eyes on me and those conversations turning night into morning He had his own taste—I was wrong to think everybody tastes the same. It is something I used to taste on command, but now it's gone Half-meaningless, I write this just to reach you, Julian still my cravingly remembering mouth must be satisfied with not his own, but his name

Julian

My mouth does not miss you. I am sorry, but My lips twist in remembrance and they know who you are, and when I am cold sometimes a flicker of something alights them, and your wandering, unsure smile is still there in my mind, but no, My mouth does not miss you.

Inherent

It would be a lie to say I no longer think of your skin-

subtly sticky on humid nights

Your chin rough, a few day’s growth sweetly jarring in contrast with soft shoulders

and soft mouth.

It is a memory- I decidedly make you a memory

of skin that was never close enough.

I will never touch you again- I cared, against you, with more than my hands.

I don’t want you here. Not in this garden. These plants weren’t grown for you, rather grown away from you– like sunflowers grow away from the dark. I don’t want to hear your voice, despite how the plants love the carbon dioxide of your exhale. It is a fading exhale.

3:23 in the afternoon and I am caught unawares, watering can in hand, warding off what could be called your thorns.

You are a human being, not a plant, and I no longer want to be touched. Save your poison. I am not on your side.

June 21

It is only a moment into the moment

but still I have this tremor, this

knowledge of the night unfolding

although all I am going to do is sleep and wake

and sleep and wake again

as though you weren’t pulsating through me

as though I didn’t shake in every moment this is the process to all things

you wouldn’t know you never close your eyes you never really open them, either.

It’s okay. We all find our way alone.

June 25

kept alert, I speak to you and you speak to me and I write this poem lineless because I don’t feel like putting any effort into shaping you

June 26

As if people were machines that could be oiled

Who do you think you are? We all waste What does it say about human nature that the beautiful ones are the loneliest? It says that we need more

than empty validation, a point you seem to never have gotten I can only hope that my hands don’t fall apart

July 1

Maybe I don’t want to operate within your metaphor. Not the page that you were afraid of, but a different page than yours.

Yes, that sounds right.

You were all there too. “Adorable.”

A string of thoughts, like the world

then set aside.

July 2

our heads can float forward as though underwater, when really they have just been resting on a car seat, music the only tide pulling us apart the sudden memories that you can’t shake the feeling of, and that keep you up past tiredness finding the right melody to sing the right song for the moment finding the Right in general

July 5

it was really my thoughts that were messy right then

so strange-

give me some air

July 6

defragment me the key is hidden in my properties give me blue space I don’t care how long it takes; I can run all night if I need to

but I am tired of being spread so thin because you can’t remember to press a button

July 8

raised skin blurred sky lights and human instruments we lie as far back as the chairs will go and try to become fluid fighting with headrests, you take my hand but there's this inconquerable ingrained wariness and a floating lack of trust above the music lighting matches with empty fire you blow mechanical cigarette vapor into my mouth the earth is expanding beneath us, you say, so slowly- the only way ancient gravity makes sense

your explanations are truthful, yet still disingenuous

July 16

this is really getting

frustrating

I don’t need you, I just need to know the reason for the radio silence.

July 24

even if we light all of the torches, i want you to keep your clothes on.

if this is made to decay, it’s all right;

i will compost with you

Someday, maybe, you will treat me fine

but for now, I feel comfortable having nothing.

July 27

if indeed there is a god whose attention determines activity then I am in his peripheral clinging to the flurries of life, dreaming of book jacket biographies dreadlocks and cages of birds. you have these theories, which I enjoy, and pocketed eyes that once (but no longer) rested on my skin, but now there’s a net below the trapeze. I am what I love and not what loves me, nicholas cage whispers unabashedly. there’s a sequence to each sparrow.

August 8

stereotypes aside, you really are very gentle.

August 9/10

You’re scary.

I find it all the more calming, this unsurety of yours in the face of my serenity. You want to know my thought process? I am doing what feels right, and I am releasing from need.

August 11

I must confess I’m glad I returned to this. The softness of stomach on stomach. I’m glad I don’t need to touch you, but I can.

August 15

nighttime rebellion, the boston tea party of sensation, leaves dropped one after another by indians into the unsuspecting harbor, laughing around the foreign substance as water tends to do your fingers unstoppable and determined to claim. a post-coital cigarette perches out the window, matching the moon with its fire as I nestle into your body with fingertips like graveyards, inhaling

I will let you treat me like this because I like to be pulled around by my hair and held gently, if uncaringly, vagabond hands pressed close. broken breath at my touch as I set sail for new zealand, your skin in storage and your moans tossed overboard.

Your Name is the Only Word That I Can Say

Your skin should have been named Laika, making love to the Arcade Fire like this, tucked away in a neighborhood, silently screaming your touch through my veins, the gentlest brush of tongue, painting the songs all over my body.

Addressed

I’m buying your music - building off your ruins. You burned down what never existed, I construct without materials.

Loveless and striding forward

Past

Why is it YOU who makes me want to quilt words? It’s like my fingertips were lying in motionless wait to be let down by you again. Not that you let me down; I wasn’t trying to change you. It was you It was you, just how you were. It was your disregard, it was the way everything was thoughts. There were fewer questions than I imagined, and a quieter ache. And when you lit And when you lit, I was tumbled over down the mountainside. The log sliced my leg but I went on. You don’t have time for Hallelujah but you have a lovely peace. We had this connection

We had this connection that wasn’t what you needed. Just like every one before. Just like every one before. But this one

But this one touched your back. I will never be sorry for how important you were to me. You released something. And even then I knew there wouldn’t be wildflowers.

words without thinking

quiet this is a place where promise is rain and nothing is ready for what it craves it begs for quiet for nothing for what I want from you as if the song I smiled to never settled my soul as if that rainy ride wasn’t a promise of peace as if there is ever a promise. you are candy apples and succulent flowers, ephemeral and sticky and not pure but dirty with meaning to me dirty with what I see in your asymmetrical eyes. you are rain spattering on a wooden deck, you are wooden popsicle sticks I bite on purpose you are wooden you are metal you are earth you are nothing that is good for me. helicopter pollen and my throat hurts but I sit outside in the yellow dust because I can reject the earth but it can’t reject me.

sleepy orange peel eyes cat fur lilacs the stench of a flower the ache of the grass. chocolate with lemon and ginger and black pepper you are the ache in my arms and legs, you are not you, you are everyone I ever wanted; I don’t want you I want to be wanted in return for all the desire I stockpiled and stored away but fills a room that could be open windows and air and sunlight.

if you could listen to music like I do you would collapse with the sorrow of it all–if you could love like I do you would be a blade of grass or a beetle crawling on its belly through the rain. you wouldn’t know anything, you would be denim and canvas and quiet.

inside me is a pear, too ripe and breaking apart with fluid too sweet to swallow too much syrup for what you can want for what you can be a plum apricot any fruit a burst of sweet in the back of the mouth and if berries the seeds in your teeth that want to be in your throat and planted inside you. rain-swollen leaves heavy above and dripping like my eyes are frozen like they need to melt like your hand can break the branches like your fingernails are tree bark.

why is it when I think of your hand on me I think of swollen raspberries in thickets of thorns and sticky sweetness that I could break through and run through with blood marks across my skin why do I think of blood oranges in my palm and want to clench and let the juice run through my fingers into the grass why are you the heavy haze in my heart when I don’t admire or trust you why do your eyes and crooked smile break my back and fill my spine with need and hunger why are you such dark honey that never washes off why are you a strawberry that stains why have I always wanted you

now that my mind is less fire I can see the quiet in you and the kindness that is peach honeysuckle music volume car seats essential oils and cotton. I can be the soft glory of my longing without it being you, without you pulsing through my veins–now you are a soft glow warming my mind towards sublime glory of feel, apart from you. you are a wicker bookshelf, a music box, a paper crane, a poem on a wall, not a punishing ache. you are, that’s all and nothing more– you are you are you are

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