The sky stretches before me, an empty manuscript, a fresh canvas
And this paint is made of stars.
I will sketch out the likeness of you
And colour you in with my crude crayons of love.
When the people look up towards my masterpiece
They will see all the ways I adore you.
She loves him unremarkably.
Like so many before
And simultaneously, not at all.
She will draw patterns on his skin at twilight
These lines have been made before
But not on him, and not by her.
She kisses him in secret before dawn
Other lips have made these shapes
But not hers, not with his.
Her craving for him is mundane.
Billions have felt this way.
She will tell you why she chases him:
“I know that everyone, anyone
Could have this feeling.
But he and I are not just anyone.”
Title inspired by ‘Love In The Time of Cholera’ by Gabriel García Márquez, which has one of my favourite titles in literature. This is for anyone who is in any kind of loving relationship, but their mental illness makes them feel like they can’t always tell them how much they mean to them for fear that they will come off as clingy, overemotional, annoying or jealous.
I am too scared to tell you that I love you.
Every word I bring up is swallowed again
To drown in the pits of me, unheard.
Sometimes it escapes, only to leave
My embarrassment in its wake.
There’s no use in it, you already know
And one thought haunts me:
What if I say it one time too many?