it's a quarter to three and twenty minutes past any hope for sleep tonight.
instead, i am singing to the walls and pulling the stars in to light up the corners in my room. instead, i am writing your name in cursive and whispering secrets in gaelic and pinning my heart to the ceiling because it reminds me that life is beautiful. instead, i am making lists of things i want to tell you, lists of a hundred and two different ways to breathe that still leave me breathless whenever you're around.
instead, i am thinking of things like:
how when you talk, you mold the air between your hands like you're painting a picture that only i can see. how when you listen, you go completely and absolutely still. how ice-blue eyes cut through whatever inhibitions hold me back. how lips curve in a way that beckon me out of hiding to wherever it is you are. how you can seamlessly switch the conversation from a discussion of the black-and-white greats to cowboy brawls. how calloused, scarred fingers can drum out sinatra without missing a beat.
instead, i am swimming through thoughts like:
how i never thought there'd be a man who could make me think coughing up my heart would be painless. how i think i can see the nets sewn between your fingers and i trust, without a singular doubt, that if i jump with eyes closed, you will make sure i don't rip my jeans on the pavement. how faith has never been a more alluring word. how hugs can feel like the end of the world tied together with a bow. how a smoke-voice can lull a balking heart through deep waters. how steaming lattes and sunshine-showers can replace chandelier lit ballrooms.
instead of sleeping, i am thinking of you.
i'm not sleeping, but i'm dreaming all the same.
instead, i am singing to the walls and pulling the stars in to light up the corners in my room. instead, i am writing your name in cursive and whispering secrets in gaelic and pinning my heart to the ceiling because it reminds me that life is beautiful. instead, i am making lists of things i want to tell you, lists of a hundred and two different ways to breathe that still leave me breathless whenever you're around.
instead, i am thinking of things like:
how when you talk, you mold the air between your hands like you're painting a picture that only i can see. how when you listen, you go completely and absolutely still. how ice-blue eyes cut through whatever inhibitions hold me back. how lips curve in a way that beckon me out of hiding to wherever it is you are. how you can seamlessly switch the conversation from a discussion of the black-and-white greats to cowboy brawls. how calloused, scarred fingers can drum out sinatra without missing a beat.
instead, i am swimming through thoughts like:
how i never thought there'd be a man who could make me think coughing up my heart would be painless. how i think i can see the nets sewn between your fingers and i trust, without a singular doubt, that if i jump with eyes closed, you will make sure i don't rip my jeans on the pavement. how faith has never been a more alluring word. how hugs can feel like the end of the world tied together with a bow. how a smoke-voice can lull a balking heart through deep waters. how steaming lattes and sunshine-showers can replace chandelier lit ballrooms.
instead of sleeping, i am thinking of you.
i'm not sleeping, but i'm dreaming all the same.
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