Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.

‘L’.

I guess this is really happening.

I mean, I had always kind of believed that one day this would happen, but I never actually knew it would. It was more of an optimistic hope, or yearn or even helpless cling to reality that it could, one day. But I definitely did not think it would happen right now, or with you or this much.

A helpless form of awkwardness and helplessness grapples me, as I hold your head in my hands and whisper in your hair. The thoughts I had always silenced to the caverns of the back of my mind somehow tried to propel themselves into the fresh and open air. They seemed to want to be in the open where they could blossom, rather than being sentenced to their locked up cages. So I compromise. I murmur softly in your ruffled locks, far from the vicinity of your ears. I still said it, you just didn’t know I did. And that makes it safe.

And almost as if those delicate syllables diffused straight into your knowing, your head comes up for air and brings me in. An affirmation that this is safe; that this state of vulnerability doesn’t mean instability. One day those words can echo.

Slowly, as the absinthe in your iris intoxicates, the thoughts begin to linger a little more on my tongue. They gain depth and flavour and vigour.  They formulate themselves in a simple, yet heavy utterance. It would be over in just one breath. A simple movement of the mouth, a swift hushed voice, and you’d know. Those little talks and glimmers in my eyes would be made vocal. And I begin to curve my lips into a word, but my larynx closes shut. I’m not ready to let this go. I’d much rather live in my head where it’s much safer and calmer and risk-free.

So time somehow catapults us on the day of your birthday. After the laughs of friends who had imbibed far too much lulls to a quiet hush and the last clack of a heel stumbles through the door, I’m left in your arms. Somehow all those locked up thoughts have leaked into the whole vicinity of the room. It’s so tangible. It’s as if there are no words left to say, but I say them anyway. I use that dreaded word, the one with the ‘l’, and.

He’s still here. His arms are still around me, his skin glowing in the light only found at 4am and I’m safe. Along the way he said that he had always felt the same too. And that was it. And that’s it. Like that, I lay by his side and laugh at his jokes and finally feel that effulgence of  life and brilliance and know that it’s going to be okay.
Because I’m right. He’s different. He’s worth the wait.
He’s lovely.

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4 thoughts on “‘L’.

  1. Like everything in life: enjoy good moment :)
    Your writting is very creative and intelligent but I find it a bit complicated sometimes, reading your text is like building a puzzle: I know what the picture is but only if I take the time checking the pieces (words in this case) I will be able to see it and admire it.

    • Thank you :)
      That means a lot, my purpose in this post was to convey the complexity of falling love in someone and not really knowing whether you feel that way, or what exactly is going on, because when you’re in love everything just seems to be so confusing, and puzzling! Furthermore, it was to convey the thought pattern I had of falling in love the second time; battling with yourself whether to tell them in the fear that it may be too soon, or unrequited. It was trying to pin point that feeling of not even knowing whether you will ever say it.

      Thank you so much for reading and your support, I hope that I didn’t overdo it with the complexity!

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