Before this pen,
so much as thinks about touching a blank page, again.
I must know: was it worth it?
Was it worth it,
to watch me sit, and write. . .
And write. . .
And write, until my pen runs dry?
Was it worth it,
To see me stare at a piece of pointless paper,
Until the sun sets and the moon shines,
Looking for the perfect word or rhyme?
It would make such sense;
If it wasn’t.
Writing. . .well,
It can drive one mad.
—And for what?
A pat on the back?
A good review?
But, then again,
Writing is more than that.
Writing is a portal
From your world to mine:
A world you can visit at any given time.
Time though, will eventually win.
And if all I have,
Are these words from this pen;
Then I’ll always wonder. . .
What could have been?
If I only put down this paper;
If I only put down this pen;
And spent all my time,
With you. . .
There are many sides to a story; this, I’ve known for a while now. But today, as I awake, groggy-eyed and in a light daze, I finally understand your side of the story.
The early part of summer, in 2015, was a summer I long to forget. My heart was shards of glass, and my mind was weak. Anyone who knew me could tell. I coped with the pleasures of the world: drink, gluttony, laziness, lust.
Of course, these sins did nothing to fill the hole in my distraught heart. Yet, like a fool, I did not cease, and dug the hole deeper and deeper. I was not myself; I was an impostor. Then. . .I met you.
When I first saw you, I was in awe of you: your tiny shoulders peering out of your shirt. Your green eyes like the universe. And your sincere smile showing your stunning heart. I was in love. . .but, I was also deep in pain.
You took a risk the day you opened up your world for me. A risk, to be honest, I did not deserve. Though, that’s one attribute I love about you: you will observe the worst in all creation—and see potential.
You saw the monstrous mask I wore, and you saw the good behind it. And, above all, you showed me the importance of trust and honesty. I will forever be grateful for that.
Happy is my heart, my soul, my mind;
the mind is such a powerful tool.
crashing against the ocean’s shore;
the mind—giving no warning—can crush your soul.
Powerful enough to make you feel as though you can’t be stopped;
at the same time, the mind can keep you
stranded. . .
motionless. . .afraid.
This, sadly, is the state my mind has me in:
the more I think,
the tighter its grip on me,
pulling me into darkness.
It’s an ironic thing, the mind:
knowing it’s the only element which can free me from the depths it put me in.
I will break free, though—and soon!
My love is on the other side.
I won’t keep her waiting.
I come my love.