I couldn’t sleep one night, I felt agitated, angry and
alone. Everyone around me was resting peacefully and I was tossing and
turning. He was in my head for some reason, not because I felt anything or had
any attachment to him but because I think I once did and never expressed it.
It needed to come out. Twenty minutes later I had written down my stream of thoughts. Written down what I
thought, what I felt. I don’t think I have thought of you again since I
wrote these words down.
Goodnight
xx
Everyone
warned me but I knew I loved you so. In the beginning it was so honest and true
how could I say no?
Midnight
wanderings of strangers, runs in the downpour of the storm. A kiss goodbye and
a kiss hello. Oh my darling I loved you so. You left sunflowers at my door,
pancakes on my table and fleet foxes in my ears. Oh how I loved you so.
But
eventually the walls came up, I pushed you away, put on a face of complete
serenity to keep you at bay. Inside I was dark and in turmoil; an intricacy of
beautiful, dangerous lines. I was scared that if you saw what encompassed me
you would leave me behind. In the end you walked, slowly, but surely, not from
the dark turmoil but from the fact that I tried so hard to keep it at
bay.
I would
pull you close when I couldn't hide anymore and push you away again when all
was settled and quiet inside. You yourself became a twisted artwork darker than
I. I didn't even know who you were anymore. My finger painting of freedom - or
my Davinci, so coded, intricate and closed. I hoped you were the finger
painting I loved so much. I tried to love the other you, I even said I did, but
in my hearts of hearts I knew it was untrue. But darling please know that I
really did love you.
They
told me to leave. Never gave reasons why, just said he is no good for you, I
now understand why. Im not sure why I didn't listen, didn't leave...all I do
know is that sufjan is my soul and you my darling were the beat to my rhythm. I
never even knew you my davinci, my finger painting, my darling. But oh I loved
you so.
