Then how come it isn’t?

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The last time I kissed her, I kissed her with a little more passion than our lungs could hold on to. I let my hands pull her in, and my eyes close to make sure I remembered what she was like.
She tasted like a Monday morning I didn’t hate and dirty coffee mugs of the night before. She tasted like grocery shopping where we ended up with just a stick of gum, and the cashier gave our smiles and giggles a weird glance cause clearly we shouldn’t shop at 3 A.M? She tasted of sunrays and tanned skin, and of crazy ways to seduce each other. She tasted like a cold November night on the terrace with my arms around her and her head on my chest and our eyes on the stars. She tasted like broken frames and mended hearts and salty tears and not being able to stay apart.
She reminded me of the time I ran my fingers through her hair, and she ran her fingers through the knots in my souls. She reminded me of the time I kissed her salty skin right after coming out of the sea, and her fingers holding onto my wet hair and pulling me in. She reminded me of sleeping all day and watching Barney all night. She reminded me of soft chuckles, and loud moans.
She was my ‘Irish’ coffee and she was the Rachel to my Ross. She reminded me of moonlight on her knees as I trailed my fingers up. She reminded me of empty bottles and half-eaten snickers. She reminded me of promises that smelled of chocolate cookies and assurances of being in Wonderland if I ever fell again.
She tasted like an eternity and reminded me of the fault in our stars. We could not end up together, but we did have a bigger infinity than we ever imagined we could have. She was the Robin to my Barney and the little forever she gave me was legen – wait for it – dary.
Didn’t you think you’d meet someone, fall in love and that’d be it?


Previous post : Fairy-tale love.
Related post : Kisses and cravings.

Mirages and ink bottles.

I am a pen. This might sound like a metaphorical exaggeration, or an ornamented fact, but it is what I am. Every time I hear the same song that you loved on the radio, it’s like a cut on the side of my arm, and the ink just flows out. Every nick and cut that I get onto my calloused skin, just turns into a bruise that I wear as battle scars and gripping stories. Every time I look at the sunlight through the tinted windows of my car, I cannot help but associate the golden hue to the hazel of your eyes. Every time I look at the vast emptiness that expands beyond the final steps of a cliff, I cannot help but imagine the jagged rocks hidden in snow to be my best friends crooked front teeth, or the jump to the bottom to hide stories of wonderland. You never know what’s hiding just beyond the point your eyes cannot see.

I don’t consider myself a writer, or the pen as a fancy extension of my arm. I don’t believe in using words to heal my pain, or writing as an escape from this cruel world. I don’t make routines and set time periods for the words to find a way out, and I don’t plan on keeping them inside of me where the dark waves can hit the sun drenched sand and wipe them away. I am not a lonely or broken man wandering on hot sidewalks among a cluster of thoughts and people, wondering why you left me, or why no one talks to me the way you did.

When I see the wailing child staring at the ice cream vendor as if that’s all he ever wanted, I cannot help but smile and think about the wishes I’ve had as a child and even as an adult. And when all of this stays in my mind, my brain becomes a volcanic land with words as molten ink, erupting onto snow sheets, paper lines, and electric screens. I don’t wait for the right moment or for the memorable one. I just find things beautiful, and I let you know. When an injured boy cries on the television and countries blow up, or a young girl is found dead on the streets, or you’re just the happiest you could ever be, you’ll bleed blue too. We all will. There’s nothing hiding beyond the point your eyes cannot see, except mirages and an ink bottle.


Previous post : This damn world.
Related post : Tsunami

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Kisses and cravings.

“I’ll make up for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you.” – Leo Christopher

The first time I kissed her, I lit up like a Christmas tree. Heat rushed to my cheeks, my cold hands warmed up, and I had goosebumps anyway.

Right before we kissed, I spent quite some time looking at her eyes. I noticed how her eyelashes curved like the corner of her lips, how her eyes were restless like the wind before a storm, how her skin made small crinkles around her eyes, and how her lips were chapped. I looked into her dancing eyes, and could hear my heart pumping the music. I grabbed her by her waist and pulled her closer like the flowers moving towards the sun. I pulled her in so that our waists were touching, and our face were only inches apart. I looked at her biting her lips, I felt her fingers cold against my neck, I placed my hand on her cheeks and leaned in.

I leaned in and kissed her and felt like this was the last time I would. The rush of blood in my veins made me hold her closer and tighter to make sure she really stays. She tasted like a sunny afternoon, chilly beaches, and tanned skin. She tasted like the wine we would open on date nights. She tasted like late night cravings, and throat burning scotch. She tasted like wild sex, funny jokes and strip poker. She tasted of shooting stars and petty wishes. She tasted like a forever.

So I kissed her passionately and tried to say the things I’d failed to say before. It seemed to be easier when no words were involved. I let my cold fingers tell her that I’d give her wintry nights, cozy blankets and hot fries. I let the loud thumping of my heart against hers tell her that I’d be just as thrilled when I kiss her after a date thirty years down the line. I let my eyelashes against her eyes tell her that above all, my only wish is to have her forever. I tell her that I’d always stay with her and watch Netflix and drink hot chocolate, rather than going out to meet people we don’t like.

I felt it. Her chest against mine, I felt her heart beating with my heart and for the first time, I realized we were both alive, as she pulled on my hair.

“The way you feel when you kiss her (him) for the first time. Like fire within your bones, like your soul has returned to the water, like every part of you that came from a dead star is alive again.” – Nikita Gill.


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Related post : Broken.

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Hearts

“O heart, be patient” – Qur’an

My heart has been jumping around,
Quite a lot since,
I became old enough to feel it.
It beats faster,
with every sheep that I count,
one sheep,
two sheep,
and three.
Maybe it just loves to dream,
And since I’ve grown old enough,
And since the things I’ve seen,
It has become restless,
For it wants butterflies,
and flowers,
fire and gushing winds,
Empty cliffs and ferocious waves.
It wants roses,
and tequila shots,
and that one girl I just can’t walk up to.
It wants to travel to places,
that even cameras haven’t seen
places where there’s no chaos,
And everything is at peace.
It doesn’t know what’s enough,
for it still isn’t old enough,
but it’s old enough to want everything anyway.
It wants giggles,
and tears that don’t sting,
and lies for surprise parties,
instead of a casual fling.
It wants unrequited love,
adventures and crazy shit.
It wants to eat french,
and kiss Italian,
Hold tiny paws of dogs,
and look into the small eyes of cats.
It wants to live,
and not just exist.
What it does not want is to be
Naive in this world.
It wants everything good,
and everything bad.
But most of all,
it wants to be able to smile,
and let it reach the eyes.
That is all.


Previous post : A new shade.
Related post : What were we like?

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A new shade.

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.

The wind can speak,
And the leaves can gossip.
The sun can giggle,
And the clouds can cry.
How has this remained
a secret for so long?
Every breath I take
Now has a papery taste,
Dry and evident.
Every word I speak,
Now sounds like an echo,
That fills the room
With its existence.
Every giggle that I hear,
Tickles my ear,
And makes me feel the joy
That it is made of.
How have I never been
So alive before?
I’ve tripped on the stairs,
That I had jumped over
A thousand times before,
Did it move?
The walls feel a bit too close,
And colors a bit too far.
Darkness has a strange color.
It reminds me of the night,
But also the day.
But mostly, it reminds me of the sky
Infinite.
Darkness is a void,
The other senses can only try to fill.
How is it that we’ve never
seen this shade before?

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.


Previous post : 11:11s.
Related post : Half.

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