Everyone finds love their own way. It’s their own story. Sometimes it may be written in ways similar to other stories. Some wildly different. I don’t know what medium my story is, or even what font; how many words or how many pages. What I do know..it’s never ending. I’m not even sure if my story has started, but what I do know is that it’s my story. It’s being told as its being written. It’s impromptu. I see the drafts of stories in past. I can see the paper bleeding with red marks, errors fill the pages. The thing is when you write a true story of love..you never know if its your final draft. It will just feel..right. The words will jump off the pages as if the emotions come so easily. When a writer has inspiration everything just flows. I guess that’s when I’ll know..
Nothing will ever overcome the thoughts that run through my mind when I’m thinking about you. You’re like a huge figure that has left my side yet the silhouette of your simple presence lingers within the constructs of my ever beating heart. A heart which longs for the reciprocation of the feelings it still feels even when you’re not there. Days turn to weeks, weeks to months, unconditional and oh so true. I tried to not write anything about the emotions that come to me in waves like the ocean on a beautiful Hawaiian beach, just as a dancer that moves with fierce passion, legs restless and ever moving…so is my love for you.
a heart :) <3
a ballsack :) <3