some say the shiny things are the prettiest. like the sparkle of a diamond or the gloss on fresh lips. not me. i like the smoothened edges of a worn wooden table. the softness of sheets that have endured hundreds of restful slumbers as well as torrid, restless nights.
my heart betrays my mind again. i told myself, it's okay. it won't hurt this time. but i lie awake, strained. strangled by the very thoughts that once brought such peace. there's something about pain. it finds a way to be felt. you try to cover it up with laughter + smiles + conversations with the most interesting people or the most interesting topics. but you are caught off guard by quiet creeping sobs interrupting the laughter. it startles you. you give in to it. you give in to the tears. you give in to your pain. pain demands to be felt. it can kill you, i think. the pain of an aching heart can kill you. or at least you hope it will, because anything is better than the kind of grief that refuses comfort. i once heard it compared to the ripping of flesh.
some say the shiny things are the best. like the delight + butterflies of that new person. or the first kiss, first time he touches your skin, feels your skin. not me. i prefer the stubble of a relaxed face. the one that looks back at you with wrinkles + lines. the one that has seen you utterly naked + bare + uncovered. the one that still finds you devastatingly beautiful, even while you lie there with nothing to give, once you've lost your shine.
my heart betrays my mind again. i told myself, it's okay. it won't hurt this time. but i lie awake, strained. strangled by the very thoughts that once brought such peace. there's something about pain. it finds a way to be felt. you try to cover it up with laughter + smiles + conversations with the most interesting people or the most interesting topics. but you are caught off guard by quiet creeping sobs interrupting the laughter. it startles you. you give in to it. you give in to the tears. you give in to your pain. pain demands to be felt. it can kill you, i think. the pain of an aching heart can kill you. or at least you hope it will, because anything is better than the kind of grief that refuses comfort. i once heard it compared to the ripping of flesh.
some say the shiny things are the best. like the delight + butterflies of that new person. or the first kiss, first time he touches your skin, feels your skin. not me. i prefer the stubble of a relaxed face. the one that looks back at you with wrinkles + lines. the one that has seen you utterly naked + bare + uncovered. the one that still finds you devastatingly beautiful, even while you lie there with nothing to give, once you've lost your shine.
