KingofAesir
Ghostly Presence
I found a thing I wrote to a girl and I feel like sharing my thing and all its cringe.
I've never had trouble with words. I've never not been able to just poor everything out onto some paper or phone in front of me. But everytime I try to do this it ends up scrapped, it's never good enough. I feel silly writing this, to be honest, like I'm trying to be some sort of story book cliche. You'll never read this, unless, by some miracle, I find the strength to give it to you. My headphones are blasting sappy "I love you but you'll never know" songs on repeat and I've never cried against my will.
Your eyes are hazel. Your eyes are literally my favorite color. Their blue and green and brown and everything and I just want to stare at them. That sounded less creepy in my head. I think everything sounds better in my head. Your eyes are gorgeous. I don't think you like them very much, I can't imagine why. Their perfect, you know? You're perfect.
There's a scar in your eyebrow above your left eye. You don't like that either. It's from a car reck, just like a lot of scars your body has. I know you hate it. But I think it just adds to you. Scars tell stories, tragic stories, scary stories, dangerous stories, pasts. Scars tell pasts and I think their amazing. I sound like a dweeb. Shit, put me in some love movie already, I'm sure I could pull it off. I mean it though. I joke a lot, laugh it off, but I mean it.
There's a fire somewhere inside me. Like some sort of out of control wild fire that the makeshift fire department can't seem to distinguish. People talk about electricity when they touch but you set my world on fire. Fire. Destructive and beautiful all wrapped into one. Destructive like your eyes, taking some sort of innane control over me and I would do anything you asked of me. Beautiful like your scars, not just the physical ones but the scars that tell your story too. Destructive and beautiful.
This is unlike me, you know? I act like I don't care, I hide my emotions under a flimsy tin foil lid. I act like I don't care so you can't see my heart beating out the national anthem at a thousand miles per minute on repeat. I've stopped having to think about what I'm typing now. My fingers are flying across the screen at an ungodly speed. I want you to know that I'm here. I'll always be here. Always.
All these words seem silly now as they come to a close compared to the ones breathed subconsciously in the spaces between them.
And these are the words I'll never say.
Your eyes are hazel. Your eyes are literally my favorite color. Their blue and green and brown and everything and I just want to stare at them. That sounded less creepy in my head. I think everything sounds better in my head. Your eyes are gorgeous. I don't think you like them very much, I can't imagine why. Their perfect, you know? You're perfect.
There's a scar in your eyebrow above your left eye. You don't like that either. It's from a car reck, just like a lot of scars your body has. I know you hate it. But I think it just adds to you. Scars tell stories, tragic stories, scary stories, dangerous stories, pasts. Scars tell pasts and I think their amazing. I sound like a dweeb. Shit, put me in some love movie already, I'm sure I could pull it off. I mean it though. I joke a lot, laugh it off, but I mean it.
There's a fire somewhere inside me. Like some sort of out of control wild fire that the makeshift fire department can't seem to distinguish. People talk about electricity when they touch but you set my world on fire. Fire. Destructive and beautiful all wrapped into one. Destructive like your eyes, taking some sort of innane control over me and I would do anything you asked of me. Beautiful like your scars, not just the physical ones but the scars that tell your story too. Destructive and beautiful.
This is unlike me, you know? I act like I don't care, I hide my emotions under a flimsy tin foil lid. I act like I don't care so you can't see my heart beating out the national anthem at a thousand miles per minute on repeat. I've stopped having to think about what I'm typing now. My fingers are flying across the screen at an ungodly speed. I want you to know that I'm here. I'll always be here. Always.
All these words seem silly now as they come to a close compared to the ones breathed subconsciously in the spaces between them.
And these are the words I'll never say.
