Romantic Poem - Tumblr Posts
As I Struggle to Find the Words
I wish I had all the right words, the one-in-a-million words, to string together in the right way to shape the right sentences.
The words to describe the light catching in your eyes, how vivid and bright and beautiful they glow, but "chartreuse" and "pear" don't fit the hue.
The right letters in the right combinations to capture the beauty in that single lock of hair falling to the side you don't mean for it to.
Nothing feels right.
"Beautiful" isn't even the best word to fit you, the U's not quite hugging the curve of your lips, the B not fit exactly to your tall frame.
If not that, though, what other words do I use?
Is there a way to write down the way that I see you so that someone who doesn't know you can see what I do?
Is there a way for you to see what I do?
The warmth in the lines that curve on your cheeks when you laugh strong and deep, the sense of security that your arms wrapped around me provide - what should I say so that you can picture what my eyes see?
Nothing has seemed to get it right before, no single word, no phrase, no paragraph, but losing hope isn't the option I want.
What art form will capture you in the best light, what medium will pick up the details I admire the most?
Is there a definitive answer to my questions?
I have the heart of a painter and a poet, but these things escape me so easily.
No metaphors can truly hold the strength of your will nor the gentleness of your touch to someone in need.
No poem I shall ever write could convey how much you mean to me, and the thought of it drives me mad.
You tell me there are others like yourself, but I've still yet to find them.
Yes, there are others with your musical talents, your athleticism, your beliefs in faith and in people, but none have them in the same combination that you do.
I could imagine no one else with the power to make my heart swell and my hands shake with a single glance.
No one else whose voice could calm my tears and steady my breathing in moments of utter panic and fear.
No one else whose singing could hold my heart so tight that my head feels light and my chest full.
You are not perfection, but even in such, you are worth more than any poems written of your beauty or the images that attempt to capture everything about you.
Not even "love" is accurate enough to depict what I feel for you.
This emotion that floods through my veins, to the tips of my fingers and ears, feels almost too unreal to name at all, but still I try to explain it all.
A single word cannot describe any of this, but it is the best way I know how to communicate it, and so I must try.
I tell you that you are beautiful, and I say to myself that I love you.
It is all I know how to say.
Sometimes I try to remember how your hands felt in mine, how calloused your palms or cold your jewelry or gentle your touch. Instead of memories of sharing a coat pocket, I find instead a pain I’d forgotten I could feel, and my heart clenches in its cage. I feel the weight of dying all over again. I think that’s what grief truly is. Dying over and over and over again until a version of yourself is born that has not touched or held or comforted that of which you grieve. Drying until a version of you is born that knows how to live without them. Sometimes I wake up with the ghost of your breath dancing across my skin, and I am grateful to have been the version to wake up this morning. Perhaps those versions of me that have died are somewhere with all the versions of you that they have loved. Perhaps they can be happy. Perhaps they do not remember the ache of not having you. Some version of us deserves happiness, after all.
"Fragrance"
When we were in the meadow,
you said I smelled like your favorite wildflower.
Summer wine drunk,
the picnic blanket laid out beneath us.
When we were in the kitchen,
you said I smelled like your favorite pie.
Flour on my nose,
apples ready to be sliced.
When we were in the back barn,
you said I smelled like your favorite summer day.
Sweetgrass and sunshine,
thunder rolling in the distance.
When I asked “what is your favorite fragrance?”,
you replied “it is making love to you.”
-Reverie
"Berries"
She held red berries in front of her,
but his brushstrokes were painting her two bare pink ones.
She popped the ripest red into her mouth.
He watched as her lips became gently stained.
She remarked, “I don’t think I’ve tasted anything so sweet.”
He replied, “I know of one sweeter.”
[Eyes locking thoughtfully]
She breathed, “Would you like to taste?”
He answered, “It would give me great pleasure.”
The berries and painting were soon left forgotten.
-Reverie
“Look for me in everything that catches your breath.”
The Universe of Us, Lang Leav
I'm the type of girl
That should've been born
In the era
Of handwritten letters
And chocolates and flowers
In the era where holding hands
Was considered
A big thing,
When boys asked
A girls parents
For permission
To take her out
The era where
Love
Was real.
Credit to the rightful owner