I wanted to see color the way a blind man must feel it. I wanted to be something; make something; leave something. I had just discovered my heart and I wanted nothing more than to use it. Use it fully, use it generously. That's something for the history books: stone-cold heartbreaker who woke up one morning and yearned for something different - something warm.
Electric touches and beating hearts. I wanted him to love me with every inch of his guarded soul. He never could say that he loved me back, but I believed it in his eyes, the fleeting vulnerability in the way he'd look at me when it was just us two alone at night. Sometimes the stars align on a shallow dock in the middle of an abandoned lake and the only thing you can really trust in that moment is how it makes you feel: wholeheartedly, undeniably ignited.
I always used to leave before the sun comes up. Take it in, take it out. Leave no fingerprints. Give nothing. It's the art of leading the dance: always be one step ahead.
I told him to spit me out when it became more than just fun. He was old school cool, and I could never really figure it out. It was the chase; the challenge; it all kept me in - forever intoxicated with the power struggle.
The thing about becoming lost is that you usually begin thinking you know where you are. Wandering along, never really second-guessing until you come upon the same fork in the road you've seen two other times now. That slow realization that quickly turns to panic; that "how the hell did I end up here?" feeling; that lost hope when you realize you're just a little girl stuck in a never-ending labyrinth: that's what it feels like to fall in love. And if you've never had it happen to you, then, my god, you will never know.