Do you see what you do to me? Making me crumble and doubt myself every time I try to do something on my own, or all the times my feet feel asleep only to be woken by the feeling of pricks and needles jabbing into them as my hands searched for you over the books. My head feels like it's going to explode every time we meet but also longed to keep meeting again. And again. I like to hide underneath your beautiful looks and your spoken words to keep myself from drowning. Why are you so cruel and yet so strikingly radiant that I seem to only focus when it comes to you?
People have spent their entire lives, dedicating themselves to you, and when I'm with you, I feel that I can somehow, conquer the world alone? I look into the world, trying to search for you. I spend all my time trying to figure you out. Time, a place where all broken souls come to heal, but I spend all my time looking and loving you. Why is it that I feel most comfortable under your shadow? Am I under some kind of a spell? Or a trance where I only see you? I don't even know your real name, your story, your background or even if you like me back. All I know is that you make me think in ways I never could and express myself in more ways than one. When you're not here, my head churns into a mix of all the places you could possibly be and where I could find you. The world till now, has shipped us in more way than one, but that's just what the world does, it creats an allusion of what can be falsehood. I know I am definitely not one of your first partners and won't be the last. But when I do see you with other people, it makes my heart sink. How is it you never glowed so radiantly when you were with me, or spoke such beautiful poetry when you held my hand. But at the same time, I wonder in amazement of all the people you inspire to write.
You were the reason for all my favourite people to express themselves in pages and make you their muse. Only you could help people to think and express their passions and stories in ways the rest of the world never could. You cause some of the greatest pleasures and displeasures to people who know you and have loved you. You're a walking juxtaposition, one nobody can get rid off, or not love.
I never knew you when I was born, or remotely thought of you until you creeped onto me on the pages of stories long written but never forgotten. You met me in the novels I read and in the poems you helped people write. But most importantly, we kind of fell into each other's arms the moment I couldn't speak and you needed to speak.
So my love, here's to you. A walking contradiction of the devil himself but also one of my greatest loves and faith. Thank you for existing and thank you for finding me. Thank you writing.
This one's to you
PS: If you didn't understand who's the person I'm addressing this to, read between the lines or re-read. I like to be very subtle in these things and hope you get what this is all about.
Thank you readers, until next time!