this blog is a museum of my heart
I haven’t loved before the way I love you. Each time is indescribably different, but yours was encapsulating and binding in a way that I don’t think I’ll ever fully untangle myself of. I felt consumed, but in a healthy love-stricken dumb teenager kinda way. Time passes and I can’t seem to rid the corners of my mind of your presence. Part of that, admittedly, is not wanting to. I know I cross your mind. But do I sail among its choppy waters diligently and steady or is it more of a passing cumulonimbus cloud blending into the sky you’re gazing at. I know I occasionally linger like background music - but I want to grab your attention like a brightly colored bench that’s charmingly out of place rather than an air freshener you’ve grown accustomed to when you go to start your car for work. I’m jealous of the coffee cups that touch you lips and anyone who gets even a glimmer of your eye contact. I’m tired of wishfully hoping you’re holding onto me when I’m so desperately clinging to your ghost. I know I need this space and we’re on separate journeys, but I still want you to be my home again someday and that haunts me. I hope your journey is just as revealing as mine is.
Until the next time I have to put pen to paper over you - thinking of you, love, J.
