The Deets.

I catch myself smiling at the oddest times of the day, stop, and ask if he’s worth all the fuss. 

Yeah, I guess he is.

I forget how it feels to be well again when sick, and sick again when well. Is it weird that I don’t favor any of the events over the other, that I actually like being sick out of the appreciation for experiencing a sore throat? On another note, I’m talking to myself again.

There’s a chance that she will rescue him from the long search of a maiden much too perfect to exist, as she always has been the maiden he’s been looking for. She treads the footsteps of a sleepless wanderer who is reluctant to risk her weary heart, for fear that she might paralyze and wound another. He transitions, settling into the grooves of a once-broken soul, rescues her from a tainted past, and shows her the right way to be loved, because with deep revelation, he realizes: 

Her imperfections are what make her perfect.

“People” is a funny word; all words just become glorified letters after a long stare.

We all have preferences, even the poor. As Heidi Baker would say, “The poor hate stale bread, but they’ll eat it.” Under any circumstances, good or bad, no one will refuse a chance for better days. How does one play the hand he/she has been dealt? When do we stop filling a void with the temporary and actually search for the purpose of said void? 

It’s hilarious, really. We’re running in circles, and by “we,”
I mean me. 

I’ve always hoped for certain events to arrive earlier than others. My biological clock reminds me with its incessant ticking that I’m late, I’m late. There’s something clogging my gears, causing me to run slower than I used to, or I am designed to realize that all this is what it is for reasons I run at all.

He was running late, looking for the right way in. And maybe in that sense, he wasn’t late at all. According to my clock, he was right on time, and possibly, even early. 

These knots, they’re not from now
As far as my mind will allow 
They’re taut - tied and twisted
Look there, and back - dismiss it

My not’s, here I am with
To meet you in a desperate death kiss
Years of tot, bought with cherry-topped anythings
Bruises - pretty little spots, taught my naughts every feeling

All this, a beast of its own
Beats its lonely heart into despair
Hold still, my brittle bones
I’m thinking love might someday care

- Enough to keep company
By a tried out, cried out me