I have a slight obsession for intricate and beautiful words, words combined to speak of falling in love. It is not quite as strong as my unadulterated infatuation with the bittersweet heart breaks spread out into paragraphs of novels; the ones you can find sprawled out on my bedroom floor. Where the letters mix and make words, the words mix and make sentences not tugging but violently grabbing at your heart, laying out a whole lifetime where every good moment is entirely overshadowed by the dark memories and nightmares, the two being mixed till you aren't sure what is and isn't real. I find myself immersed in these types of writings, because there? I find myself.
Someone asked me today, "Why do you always wear black?"
I should have said, "Because I'm in mourning, of who I use to be. But notice my smile, because I'm celebrating who I'll never have to be again."
Part of me wants to see you, rest your forehead against mine, place my hands on your face, gaze into your eyes, search for some hint of love. But that's just it, if I have to go looking, it just isn't enough.