There's this burning passion that subsides within me. A reminder of what I think I have lost. A love for a girl I don't know. But maybe that is the true lost. She walks beside him on summer days, and I'm sure she will in Winter as well. It makes her happy, and there's nothing more to it; how can I be so jealous as to have the thought of ever impeding that?
Words don't match lyrics, and likewise my pieces do not live up to his songs. How he adores her; how it makes me jealous. It is his smile, his boyish charm, his suave that entrances her, into the deepest affection. A fondness I may find unbearable, a growing relationship that's cute.
I don't have his voice, but I'm sure my heart sings of the same song.
Writing is my pastime, my passion, my expression of everything.
But how to express this feeling when I'm sure it is too late; when last week I would have embraced every minute that I could talk to her after school, I now wait for the minutes to pass so I don't have to bear the sight. The her and him.
They smile when around each other. how cute. something that should last forever. Something that shouldn't be taken away.
Music in the form of words. Long overdue. but maybe that's why I won't write them. At least not publicly. Words, inscribed in my mind tell me of how much I miss the friendship if nothing more.
Brought me small smiles, bits of light in a day of darkness. Maybe that's all I should ask for.
I once saw beauty in your eyes, a hazy glow that i couldn't describe. replaced with a certain blindness it was.
Leaving me to wonder how. The lovely aura that once surrounded your presence, replaced with a field of my contempt. Repelling me to the furthest extents. of the room, of my heart. Understand how i once couldn't resist your smile, your gaze. It is gone.
Plagued with utter confusion and stubborn hubris, I see you as you are. As you have been. How far have I been, gone.
I met you when I was young. Far too young to know you and far too young to like you. When my naivety made each malicious act a shock. When the words love and beautiful were used often, but meant nothing.
Far too young to call myself a man, let alone a boy.
I met my father when i was born. Far too young to know that I was his reflection. Far too young to know that I was him.
I met my brother when he was born. He was far too young to know that I'd be his older brother, his role model.
I never met someone like you. But I wish I had. For maybe you'd be the one to calm me when I was angry, to love me when I was lonely, to quell my pain when I was hurt, to understand me when no one did, and to smile when I hugged you.
Sixteen, hardly a man, hardly a boy. I speak of such words as though I know them too well. But words are words. actions are distant. and love is a word, and an action.
Sixteen years of life, far too young to know who i'll meet, or what will become.
Funny that people tell me its cute. this like. because cute doesn't seem to cut it, at least not now. this like. of someone i seem not to know.
before me lies my heart for you to desecrate, do it quick before I get hope or a maybe. this like.
give me back my key.
Corruption of the writer as his hand touches his heart. The pulsing letting him know he's alive. And yet it is the heart that hurts and he does not know why.