Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

Originally Uploaded here

I remember when I used to watch your eyes slowly thread through my words. Sometimes, I wonder if the only things you loved about me were the things you love about yourself. That isn't meant to be an indictment, because you should love yourself, but more of a sad admission that I probably didn't mean much. I'm probably even forgotten.

I forget you, and now I know it is a defence mechanism. You are beautiful and talented, but you possess so little drive. In that, and in a few other ways, you are alien to me. My pride would like to strike you from the list, but I can't. My heart is an iron cage.

I loved you so fiercely for just a few weeks. I felt the urge to call you wife and have you be the mother of my children. But really, we were both so incredibly damaged in such opposite ways I'm not surprised it ended. We both were good for each other and, ironically, that broke it. I still really love you, but there's no going back and I'm not sure I have any sadness in my left over it. It just was, it wasn't going to work and neither should it have.

Don't read too much into this.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 2:51 PM | Permalink

Originally Uploaded here

I'm sitting, and I want to write. I want to let the paintings in my head become something, anything. Get out, become at least, in the smallest way, more useful than they are now. If I can impart just the smallest sliver of how I feel to you, perhaps then all this feeling will not be in vain.

I remember your smile. I remember that it was the first thing that made me know I love you. There was nothing particularly magnificent about it, into itself, and, like much of you, was clumsy, a tad ungainly. You asked if it was so infrequent that it might evoke such a strong reaction in me, like the universe opened up in my mind like a colossal flower made of light, like the beginning of everything. The brilliance of a birth of a star where there was only darkness. The answer, in part, was yes, you did certainly frown a lot. But the other answer was simply: I love you.

I want your sly grins, your sidelong disapproving glances, your reserved and somewhat mad opinions. I want to curl my hands into your hands, my legs into your legs, my arms into your arms. I want my nose to rest underneath your jawbone and I want you to squirm uncertainly when I do. I want your nervous passion. I want you to strain to reach the back of your eyes. Like many things I want, this doesn't really exist, not without context. I loathe the context it does exist in, but it doesn't change the want.

Written On: Home Computer

Posted by Kurrs at 11:14 AM | Permalink