Love of wounded..

I once told a man I loved him
And I meant it; but he didn't believe me

I always wondered why that was,
Until I looked at the wound inside my own chest
and realized that;
I hadn't believed him, either,
When he had told me the same thing..

So I allowed myself to go on loving him,
Not with beautiful declarations -
they have little use -
But with silence, in a continuous,
Secret action that is almost
Like absence.

I allowed myself to go on loving him
The way angels tuck someone in to sleep,
Kiss their foreheads goodnight and
Fly out the window, unseen,
Expecting nothing, floating at a distance,
But still keeping the nightmares away..
Regardless of whether or not their devotion
Is discarded as fiction.

Behind the curtain..

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I believe that it's the ordinary that is so distinguished. I am only an amateur who sees the mundane with a twist. Goes around putting titles on self-perceived moments as life goes on by...
 

Cranky bitchi`ness ..

“I can read women. But god damn you woman, you’re all over the place. If I could read you I’d be god” -David Flecha

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I believe that it's the ordinary that is so distinguished. I am only an amateur who sees the mundane with a twist. Goes around putting titles on self-perceived moments as life goes on by...