A Poem About (His) Love
I met a man, gentle as a summer breeze and sweet as honey. His hands are big enough to carry my heavy-heart and bring it to a place of calmness and serenity. His blond hair is soft, as my fingers run through it, and his eyes express compassion and love to me, as he looks right through me.
His intelligence intrigues me and the way he speaks makes me weak. We talk about art and philosophy, travelling and spirituality. Minutes become hours and the hours become days. We talk and wonder and listen and dream about running away.
He looks at me like I’m golden, as if I’m this dream came true. Although I would consider myself to be a nightmare, but it’s his version of the truth. He loves me more on the days that I hate my reflection, he’s ignores the flaws of my imperfection. He sees the beauty in me when my perspective on the world is ugly, when my eyes are weary and I don’t see clearly.
Whenever I get lost in the madness, he pulls me out and put my feet back on the ground. I think it still scares him sometimes, this wired structure of my twisted mind.
But he’s brave in trying to understand me and trying to keep up with my speed. Though I feel guilty for dragging him down and sometimes taking him to a dark side of existence.
We dream about travelling, of living abroad again. Our past resembles, we’re connected by a city we both adore. We’re stuck in a small town, with a craving for more.
I want to take him and I want him to take me to far away places where we can wander endlessly.