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Description
(he)art block

My writings always fed themselves in my own misery.
So then why, now that I've hit rock bottom,
am I completely unable to write?...

Why can't I express how I'm haunted by your face,
every single moment I'm awake…
How you're the first thing on my mind in the morning,
and the thought that I fall asleep to every night.

Why can't I take this pen, my only faithful companion,
and create an art piece that comes at least close
to picturing how beautiful you are to me?

Why can't I just write myself away…
Just lose myself in my own words,
my own worlds…
Wallow in my own self-misery with the permanent
taste of your cheek imprinted on my lips forevermore…

I'm a poet, and a lover. A hopeless romantic of some kind.
I always make things seem more tragic in my writings
than what they really are.
But this?...
This I cannot express, not even with my deepest imagery or metaphors.

I will never be able to explain how it all happened,
how love-as-a-friend turned into the purest, deepest, hardest kind of love I've ever felt.
How it makes me feel every time I feel your touch,
how your scent and the warmth of your skin makes my heart beat faster,
how your presence makes my mouth so dry I actually forget how to speak…

So why can't I just write a poem?...
Not the kind that I usually do, but an honest-to-heart,
I-swear-I-love-you poem.
Would that make a difference?
If I actually wrote it,
and you actually read it?...

Well, if it would,
then here it is…
I love you.

Description
(he)art block

My writings always fed themselves in my own misery.
So then why, now that I've hit rock bottom,
am I completely unable to write?...

Why can't I express how I'm haunted by your face,
every single moment I'm awake…
How you're the first thing on my mind in the morning,
and the thought that I fall asleep to every night.

Why can't I take this pen, my only faithful companion,
and create an art piece that comes at least close
to picturing how beautiful you are to me?

Why can't I just write myself away…
Just lose myself in my own words,
my own worlds…
Wallow in my own self-misery with the permanent
taste of your cheek imprinted on my lips forevermore…

I'm a poet, and a lover. A hopeless romantic of some kind.
I always make things seem more tragic in my writings
than what they really are.
But this?...
This I cannot express, not even with my deepest imagery or metaphors.

I will never be able to explain how it all happened,
how love-as-a-friend turned into the purest, deepest, hardest kind of love I've ever felt.
How it makes me feel every time I feel your touch,
how your scent and the warmth of your skin makes my heart beat faster,
how your presence makes my mouth so dry I actually forget how to speak…

So why can't I just write a poem?...
Not the kind that I usually do, but an honest-to-heart,
I-swear-I-love-you poem.
Would that make a difference?
If I actually wrote it,
and you actually read it?...

Well, if it would,
then here it is…
I love you.