Its like a mysterious wonder, so serine yet lovely. The beauty is piercing my soul, as if it were the chill up my spine caused by a supernatural element, or perhaps it was me. As if from an outter body experience, as if I could look as though above my own body, as I lay there cold, dead untouced by his lips. I were to lay there unsound, muted, blue and heart stopped. The rhythm of my heart died as he told me he could never love me; he was my one and only love. I have loved him all my life, my best friend my other half, my world, he means everything to me. The sparkle in his eye, as though it were glitter, a red flame that lit my furnace, has been extenguished. My heart remained black as the ashes that mourned his departure, as my eyes followed. The blue ran from my red cheeks, full with anguish. How could I ever be angered by him, how could I have asked him to love me so? It was as though glitter fell from the sky as rain a deep blue, an ivory white as snow, that sparkled but had no meaning, no relevance other than for my happiness. Was that not enough to provoke the slightest of a warmth filled thought? Why could I not live without him, perhaps I spent my whole life with him? It was a tare to my ligaments, to the unraveling of my DNA codon. In disbelief I took that last breath, the inhilation of his near by air. It was overbearing for my fragile and dainty heart to absorb. His eyes uncompassionate, as mine gleamed for his distant grey shadow, once what I found to be so pure, it was practically invisible to the eye. It was a color of unworthy, untainable white. Something I could never have, (and I knew it) now muttled, with the tainted color of black, sorrow, sin, realization of death. The glitter of your figure dimmed, in the darkness amongst the thorns, along the dirt filled path. I remained still, just for a mere moment. I turned around, face forward to the yellow oblivion. Take me, dear sun, take me God, instead of my ashes leave pink glitter as a remnant of me. Let the glitter gleam, sparkle, as though your eyes once had, as my eyes will always shine for you, as they always have, as I hope they always will, as I leave behind my mourning love for you.
When I think of love I see an image like this in my mind. It seems uncomplicated, not abstract but concrete, when really the meaning is abstract, love. Love is abstract. Is it a feelings, or feelings? Is it an emotion? Can it truely be expressed? Does it have a significant value or worth? What does it mean to be in love, to be loved or to experience this abstract untouchable, unseeable "Love". It is something that I hope to achieve, to aspire to have, perhaps in the near future. I do like some people, and today my mom was discussing the topic of boys, and it annoys me when she compares me to my friends. She says they act as if they have no interest or care if a guy likes them, perhaps I am different, well I am I am weird and i'm fine with that. I felt degraded, as if I was not good enough, my approach was incorrect, but I do not have a foundation, I suppose it is just what it is. I feel something, I have a beating heart that pumps blood, and I am not a Tin Man. I am a girl, it is normal to have emotions, to feel excitement and thrill, to get into some trouble. I just do me. I am me, and if people do not like it , if a guy tells me I need to change, I will change my guy, I will never change me. For now, I dream of the scenery on my first date with him, I invision his smile, and can practically hear the words that fly off his tounge. In the midst of that he tells me he loves me, but for now it can remain a distant thought, while the only love in my life remains my animals, my pet dauchands.
I want so badly to say Iam at peace with myself, with everyone that encompasses my world, the realm of my ideologies. I wanted him to love me the way I loved him, I wanted him to see me as a beautiful woman, someone comforting and loving. Now I find myself stone cold, regretting the words I had once proclaimed, the words that flapped loosely from my barren lips. I realized I was a fool to have told him how I felt from the begining, it was a mistake that cost me the closest relationship I could have had to love with him, our friendship. I have not had the need to write or feel inspired in any way to write, although unisnpired, dead inside and ill on the out, I struggle to fing the correct thoughts, although the warm tears that run from my cheeks. I think in my mind in a vicious cycle, of an ellipse, not even a circle, Iam imperfect, maybe if I were prettier, more intellegent, and was skinny he would have loved me. Maybe if I were not as nice, and more demanding he would have fallen for me. Or even the fact that I cared, if I had shown disinterest would I be sitting here trying to deny my feelings, or would I still deny them even if I were not me. I could not bring myself to be so cold to him, his friendly smile his bright eyes, I ould not stay quiet and lie, pretend to be a person I am not. I could not hide my identity beneath a piece of cloth of lenin, but maybe behind unrealistic words. Your voice was the symphony in my ears, the memory of your distinct pitched voice, I could not help but to fall in love with a handsome, intellegent guy. I felt that you were the closest thing in my life to being perfect. You practically were perfect, from your quafted hair, to the clothing that you wore and not one wrinkle, tatter or piece of excess lint. I still love him and I probably will for a while. You are an attachment, something that I can wing away
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