Thoughts Of A Twenty Something Year Old
Aspiring writer. Born storyteller.
All I need to hear sometimes is just an “I love you.” God, if you feel it, how I wish you would show it. Because maybe you do not understand how much and how hard and how deep I feel. I need to be kissed under sunshine and raindrops. Know skin upon skin even on nights when the stars hide. I cannot be the woman that always gives you an excuse. My always never worked out before anyway.
It’s okay that you don’t see yourself the way that I do. That you don’t see how your eyes are sprinkled with flecks of hazel, and you probably don’t realize that you bring your left hand up to your mouth every time you laugh. The same hands that hold me, that could probably build towers and castles and maybe you do, maybe you don’t understand that when your left is in my right, I know you were worth waiting for.
The world is fraught with oddities, my dear. We are no exception. Planes that fly too low and leave clouds of chemicals in cigarette smoke trails. Broken champagne bottles and manic musings. Discussions on the fountain of youth. Aliens on Mars. Aliens on Earth. Dreaming in spaceship coupes.
I watched from my window – the black sea hang below an even blacker sky – supple bursts of starlight coating the air with sweet flavors of winterberry and rooibos. Sea foam hoping to catch those falling gems, mini treasures to carry out to great depths, probably wished for by lonesome sailors searching for a French kiss or that old topographic map, whichever feels more like home.
From here on this four-legged stool, I can simplify the universe into little pockets of the globe. It makes life a bit easier. Compartmentalizing like this. Seeing pieces of me in everyone else. Realizing that we are all ridiculously connected even if I will never know the faces of 99 percent of humans on this earth. And what’s more is that I will know even less about the space that surrounds our planet. The galaxy. Galaxies. What lies beyond.
Thoughts Of A Twenty Something Year Old 