Écririons

Posts tagged love

If Today Was My Last Day

ecririons_post5

 

If Today Was My Last Day

If today was my last day on this earth and all bets were off.

I wouldn’t waste a single minute but neither would I want to rush it all till the end were my heart stops beating.

I would see my family and thank them for every little thing I forgot to appreciate in the normal stressful days.

I would call up my circle of friends and have one last drink with them on my treat, I would let the silence do the talking.

I would seek out old lovers and foes, tell them all the things I never got to say and hope we could find some peace.

I would write one last song and hope for a bestseller like I always dreamed of, never mind those couldn’t believe.

I would try to find some closure in it all, predict and chant one last meaningful quote for my legacy to hold.

If I was out of hours and out of chances, if only one last try remained.

I would take my girl and take her for one last dance under the blankets, tell her that she was the one and only for me.

I would tell my girl to never forget me but never to forget to live her life, because in the end that’s all we have.

I would write one last letter with the intention of thanking all the people who I have had the pleasure of in my life.

I would raise a glass to the sky and toast to the fallen people who I would soon be joining in some place new.

At the end of the day I would tell them all to go home, let my girl stay and watch the sun go down together one last time.

I would say my goodbyes and ask her to leave me be, I would sit with my throughs and think back while waiting for death to take my hand.

I would do it all of this if today was my last day, I wonder what you would do? If today was your last day?

(Header Image: unsplash.com)

Thank You For The Scar

 

ecririons_post4I am cold, wet and dripping from recent shower, as I stand here, looking at myself in the foggy mirror.

I feel the lust to take a good look at myself, glaze and view my scars from over the years.

These scars are not the ones under my chain or the long one on my right leg, they are ones I can see in my eyes.

The ones none visible to the naked eye, yet the ones that run deepest and left the most damage.

However theses scars should not be hidden in shame, after all they are the ones that makes me who I am.

As I stand here looking at these scars I think about the people who caused them, not with hate but with a desire to thank.

I think about the friend from the dark ages who sparked a lust but created a nightmare, she was the first and the hardest fall.

I wish to thank her for destroying me, only for me to be rebuilt with a greater and wider vision.

I will never forget the girl who had me chasing her on and off for so long, that even we can’t quite agree on how the story goes.

I want to thank her for teaching me a lesson on behavior and let her know, she has an eternity place in my heart.

Someday I’ll raise a glass to the golden, yet crazy butterfly for giving me a great time as long as it lasted.

I will thank the butterfly for showing me good from bad and letting me move on.

I must not forget the many flowers I passed by before I found the right one, each and every gave me a new advice to live by.

If I ever met one of them again, I’ll shake their hand and say my thanks for preparing me for the one that counts.

I hope one day I will meet the black sheep again under different terms in a different time, until then I will always have what she said to thing about.

I would like to thank her for giving me insight in what to judge on and when to back off, may all luck be with her.

As I stand here dry and cozy, I think about all the others that I never addressed but know they have my thanks too.

Thank you for these scars.

(Header: pixabay.com)

Heart Made of Clay

A Clay Oven for the Heart

 

No one told me that love
is not an equation, nor linear
our hearts are like plotting points
the x-y axis
Positive three for the kiss, negative four (a bit too forward)

we dance and prance around the grid,
sometimes we forget that home is zero, zero.

I would be your desperate ballerina
your green light on the dock
a manic pixie dream

in slow motion, the blast is beautiful

I lost myself in a bar parking lot,
staring at stars and speaking the gibberish of broken tongues.

I ached in the inches between two leather chairs.

In the dorm room,
I cried unblinking in ecstatic rage.

Under a ceiling of acoustic tile,
I looked up, away
from your turning head of chestnut hair.

My heart has traveled.

Chaotic routes across the map,
from a southwestern corner to a cold north lake
into shafts of gilded light through branches,
through green leaves and a tiny castle,
in post-tripping waves of nostalgia.

I have been years of love, compacted
to the third-floor space of a week.

I have been an instant of love that never died.

I have been the immortal beloved,
I have been the beloved heathen, released
returned to the wild to prevent further damage.

I have been abandoned by the wooden cross,
I have been sustained by the weight of gold.

My love flew one-way across the ocean.

My love was a wager,
traded for self-satisfaction and a case of beer.

My love, I drank the cheap red wine in your wood-paneled room
and lit a bonfire upon friendship mistaken for something else.

I could do most anything to you

I turned up the thermostat,
I was always so warm and ready
for the hands of these men to shape me
because I was frightened of mirrors.


 

 

Italicized lines from ‘Somewhere a Clock is Ticking’ by Snow Patrol

Photo Credit: Compfight stock photos, Creative Commons use

Crazy Stupid Love By J. Bjerre

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Once there was a young boy who just wanted to be taken seriously.

He knew this girl and feeling felt for her but she already gone and caught feelings for someone.

Someone else with their own feelings caught in a completely chaotic mess.

They all chasing something and they don’t entirely know why.

But ain’t we all chasing that someone?

Because of this damn love.

It got us all mixed up.

It got us all looking like a fool.

It got us all going crazy for reasons we quite don’t understand.

All because of that crazy love.

Teen girl on her way to becoming a woman, got herself stuck in classic love roulette.

The man she loves, loves someone else and both fight everyday for that special one.

But she’s isn’t it for him, that she knows but I bet it still hurts like a son of a gun.

She still wonders why things went as they went instead of something else.

But don’t ask ourselves that?

Because of this damn love.

It got us all going in circles.

It got us all hung up and blinded.

It got us all doing stupid things we regret and we will do all it.

All because of that stupid love.

A lovely couple which had their magic starting to fade for mistake they both regret.

Picture perfect love story would become a bitter fight for air for both of they.

In the end neither of them never stopped loving so why were “we” so close to be an “I”.

Once the figure out their mayhem, they can wonder what happened.

But I guess we all wonder that sometimes.

Because of this damn love.

It got us all going mad.

It got us all on our knees.

It got us all forgetting everything else than what we see.

All because of that.

Crazy.

Stupid.

Love.

(Header image: unsplash.com)

Fragments: Study Hall

Fragments- Study Hall (1)“She wants him so badly, knows what she wants to be…”

It was so easy to glance in your direction. My fingers gripped tight around a wooden pencil, clammy, the angle of it dug a trench in the last knuckle of my right middle finger, so deep it was still there in the afternoon when I changed clothes in the locker room before practice. The pencil was the one thing holding me in reality for that moment, as those words flowed onto the paper in a hushed hurry while your head remained bent over a red grade book. That head of chestnut hair, it had gold strands and you were the only person I’d ever met who always looked beautiful, even under fluorescent tube lights.

I scribbled away until a tiny movement, meaningless as your foot shifting to the right, grabbed my attention as though you had called my name out loud. My heart was a prisoner banging a metal cup against the bars, so erratic and beating so hard under my ribs. I was afraid you knew, you could see across the table to read the teenage angst as it poured onto the page, each cliché and turn of phrase full of my obsession…

Oh, how I loved you. I agonized for those weeks and months in your classroom, so adolescent and so thirsty for whatever semblance of affection came my way. Your glance, your words, the time you spent: it all meant that I was worthwhile, that I was something greater than the toxic neurotransmitters running wild within my mind. I read through the dated pages now and it’s almost laughable, immature and repetitive; but I know how deeply I felt each line, each word, each look, and each breath I took around you. There were days when I begged for it to dissipate, but I didn’t really want to live without it.

The pain of that love was sweet and intoxicating like no drug I’ve swallowed since, wonderful and horrible all at once. It was a fire that stayed in my heart for years, lingering even into adulthood, fading only when I finally met real love, the enduring passion of partner and equal and friend and lover all housed in a single body.

I will never forget the days, the sweaty palms, hammering heart.

The days I walked into your classroom knowing that at least with you, I could have a moment to smile, to feel something of my own choosing.

The days of unrequited bliss that inched through air and over empty desks, a pittance play-acting a fortune; the days of a teenage heart stuck in neutral, idling across the room with no other fuel to spend than the fumes of pining after the impossible.

 

Epigraph credit: ‘Don’t Stand so Close to Me’, The Police
Header image credit: Lock and Stock Photos by ajmontpetit.com

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