Sunday, January 25, 2009

I can feel your eyes on these words as I write each one.

You need to stop being so concerned with collecting beautiful things and start being more concerned with making things beautiful.

I began thousands of years ago on a cave wall somewhere in Africa. I painted the idea of you before symbols could make sounds in our heads. And each time I come back, I'm the same. This is not the first time you've read this. I've told you a thousand times over a thousand years. I am no more the first me that's ever been than you are the first you. And we certainly won't be the last.

Let's pretend we're artists and everything we feel is something new to be proud of. Let's take our imaginary friends on a double date and ditch them in a movie and hope they get along while we kiss outside on the sidewalk. Let's take the dreams you mumbled in your sleep and paint a child's nursery. And if we don't finish today, we've always got tomorrow.

I let the clock face the mirror so that each second takes me closer towards you. Instead of further away.

It only hurt the first time so you'd know how much it didn't hurt the second time.

I need you to give me the chance to take you for granted.

If you found anything of value here or in others, it's only because you'd seen it before inside yourself.

I'll tell you the truth so close to your lips it'll taste like a lie. There's a tongue in my mouth. It matters. This fucking matters. The only thing that works is the truth and you are the hardest truth to tell. So kiss like you give a damn.

I would set up shop inside your heart and charge the world to love you.

You want me to be made of the same thin paper as you. But it'd feel like I was kissing cardboard.

And I can feel your eyes on these words as I write each one. And I know you read it. And it's the tips of your fingers that pushes back on each key. And your hand on the mouse. And your back in that chair. And I just want you to know, that I know.

I’m all out of midnight phone calls and flowers sent to your door. I’m out of throwing letters off fire escapes and drawing a cathedral in the sand. I’m out of spray-painting your name on freeway overpasses. I’m low on cute names given between blankets and 9am. I’ve got no dramatic displays of public affection left. And now everyone else I ever love is going to think me boring. Because I used it all up on you.

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