August Moon

"Try as I might, I cannot forget, and try as I might, I cannot love you less."

The heart bleeds small rivers of gold and silver, swirling together into a pewter glinting pool of my emotions, my thoughts, my existence, making it so incredibly hard for me to understand how something that's supposed to be to terrifying can be so beautiful as it runs, circling it's way down the palm, the wrist, the length of my arm. I want to glint in the sun, my heart shining off of every inch of my body, to wear my soul as a visible painting on my face. To have this liquid define me as who I am, just worn as film, thin as paper, on my body, spaning over my chest, covering the pale skin of my legs and arms, sheilding my face from the sun. I want to pour my heart and soul into you, without restraint, without thought, because you deserve everything I can possible offer you. Not the worrying, or the insane side of things that keeps pushing me under against my will, and holding me under in its cold, shivering grasp. Even within its strong hold, it will never as bad as when I didn't have you, and I have no earthly idea how to tell you how thankful I am for that.  You've tought me to know when I don't deserve things, to be able to look at myself and know that I'm beautiful, and wanted, and loved, and protected. It's so easy to sleep in your arms, when I toss and turn, grasping for broken peices of myself when I'm not with you. I wake up in a thin sheen of sweat, gasping, waiting for the vertigo to end. It's not like that, ever, when I'm with you. I don't know how to express how much that means to me. I don't have to worry, and it's setting in, burying deep in my chest that you really won't do anything spiteful on purpose. I love you, thank you.