pockets.
Life. Anger. Resentment. Change. People. Friends. Strangers. Parties. Drinking. Drugs. Music. Difference. Characteristics. Flaws. Ripples. Dreams. Reality. Both. Death. Restart.
The funny thing about these words that randomly keep playing over and over in my mind, is that not even for one second did the word, “love” come to mind. Which, for me is more than shocking. Mainly because - love is something I crave. Like air, I can’t live without it. But the love I’m searching for, has never existed, or even unraveled the way I imagined it. I write about love in so many different shapes and forms, that no one could possibly begin to fathom what I feel about the subject. The four letter word that haunts me, taunts me even. It’s all around me, and I haven’t even had a taste of the real thing, let alone feel love the way it was intended. Then again, how can I say that? I know that I’m probably being a little dramatic, dragging out the skeletons in my closet about how no one loves me. Truth be told, maybe I haven’t let the right person in? I’m inspired. Intrigued. Itching to feel those four letters turn into four dates, and those four dates, lead into four weeks, and so forth until those four letters, become more than that. I want love that will last forever, and to share them with someone else, so that it doesn’t look so foreign when I write it.