Let The Smoke Rise.
Explain to me the stars. All the finite and infinite things in the universe.
Sounds silly, doesn't it? Expecting such answers. And I don't really expect them, but that isn't the point.
The point is that I know when I look in your eyes for that first time, the answers won't even matter. In your eyes, everything will fall into place. I won't need to ask any questions, because the answers will be laid out in front of me.
I'm anxious, and impatient. It's to be expected, I suppose. But that doesn't make it any less painstaking. Patience is a virtue indeed. The longer I wait, the sweeter that moment will be.
It's all in the eyes, really. A voice is just a voice; skin, no matter how fair, is still simply flesh. Clothes change with fashion.
All of it's nothing without a perfect set of eyes. I don't even need to see them in person to know that's exactly what yours are.
It's nothing to do with color, or size, or any of those things poets love to go on and on and on about. Really, I guess it's not even the eyes so much as what's behind them. Some unnameable thing, some entity or force.
This is all gibberish. But what else is new?
That pristine
Moment.
With arms around one another
And lips against lips.
Movie-perfect isn't what I'm looking for. Though I'll gladly kiss you in a style to make Clark Gable proud.
Sometimes the sheer rapidness of my thoughts frightens me. It's such a constant flow, it's really hard to keep it all in perspective.
But no matter how stressed, how chaotic and jumbled my thoughts are, I know all I have to do is think of you. You calm my nerves like you couldn't possibly imagine.
Sometimes when I'm writing I just can't keep a steady hand -- some people say I get 'tremors', though I don't really know what that encompasses. But regardless, sometimes my hand will be so unsteady I simply cannot write a single letter.
Until I take a deep, long breath, and think of you. Then it call comes together.
It all falls into place.
I suppose that's the most important part. Even beyond eyes and lips and all those other things that are so obviously apparent. It's a sense of order, of completion; it's knowing that I can look to you and feel at home. It's a bit of a scary place to be at twenty years of age, but I don't think I'd have it any other way.
And there's not another person on this whole planet I'd rather feel it with.
Sounds silly, doesn't it? Expecting such answers. And I don't really expect them, but that isn't the point.
The point is that I know when I look in your eyes for that first time, the answers won't even matter. In your eyes, everything will fall into place. I won't need to ask any questions, because the answers will be laid out in front of me.
I'm anxious, and impatient. It's to be expected, I suppose. But that doesn't make it any less painstaking. Patience is a virtue indeed. The longer I wait, the sweeter that moment will be.
It's all in the eyes, really. A voice is just a voice; skin, no matter how fair, is still simply flesh. Clothes change with fashion.
All of it's nothing without a perfect set of eyes. I don't even need to see them in person to know that's exactly what yours are.
It's nothing to do with color, or size, or any of those things poets love to go on and on and on about. Really, I guess it's not even the eyes so much as what's behind them. Some unnameable thing, some entity or force.
This is all gibberish. But what else is new?
That pristine
Moment.
With arms around one another
And lips against lips.
Movie-perfect isn't what I'm looking for. Though I'll gladly kiss you in a style to make Clark Gable proud.
Sometimes the sheer rapidness of my thoughts frightens me. It's such a constant flow, it's really hard to keep it all in perspective.
But no matter how stressed, how chaotic and jumbled my thoughts are, I know all I have to do is think of you. You calm my nerves like you couldn't possibly imagine.
Sometimes when I'm writing I just can't keep a steady hand -- some people say I get 'tremors', though I don't really know what that encompasses. But regardless, sometimes my hand will be so unsteady I simply cannot write a single letter.
Until I take a deep, long breath, and think of you. Then it call comes together.
It all falls into place.
I suppose that's the most important part. Even beyond eyes and lips and all those other things that are so obviously apparent. It's a sense of order, of completion; it's knowing that I can look to you and feel at home. It's a bit of a scary place to be at twenty years of age, but I don't think I'd have it any other way.
And there's not another person on this whole planet I'd rather feel it with.
posted by Uncle Funky Pants at 2:55 AM
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