You are the best thing to ever happen to my writing.
You, with your big eyes and little smirk.
I can’t stop writing about you
And the way you whisper to me
When I am lying with my head against your chest
Listening to the gentle rhythm of your heart.
You see, I used to write about death and depression and anger
But now, the only things that come to mind
When I put pen against paper
Are about you
And the way you kiss me
And the fluttering in my chest
Like a bird is batting it’s wings against my rib cage.
The only words that spill onto the page
Are about the times that you made me laugh until I cried
And the way you teased me about it
The first time you held my hand
And how my face flamed scarlet
And my heart felt like it might explode.
All the late night text messages
And lazy Sunday afternoons.
The only ink my pen will bleed
Is about perfume bottles, one for every year
And Moldy Peaches and Jason Mraz
Wounds healed by kisses and strong arms.
Pain refuses to be personified.
Love manifests itself in every pore of my flesh
Wrapping around me like a warm blanket just out of the dryer.
It’s this glorious, never ending sea
And we are but sailors standing in awe.
We were canyons
Dry as bones in the desert sun
But our love for each other is rain
Finding the cracks in the time worn Earth
And patching them up.
We are pieces of broken glass
But our love is glue
Holding us together.
We are a mosaic
We are beautiful together.