Mitchell's Mustard Blog

June 30, 2014

No one seems to write letters any more . .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 10:34 am

For you . .

Love, the word itself, seems too short, too minuscule, to explain its true meaning. The way this single word holds you in an alien state, a whirlwind of emotion, hand in hand with the silence of a lonesome night. Big enough to take over one’s existence, yet small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. Your biggest strength, your weakest attribute, the most powerful weapon. I’d pick you up from your dusty knees, but only to ground you when you’re too high. Knowing that a personal goal comes in the form of this word, a sucker for a happy ending. Boy meets girl, boy loves girl, hand in hand, till the last light. Sunsets into full moons, morning rain to afternoon sun. Imprints on pillows and messages on mirrors, they’re not a myth, not just a scene from a movie, they’re a life experience that comes with a choice. A choice to let go, understand, to appreciate those little things we seem to neglect. I’m lucky enough to have an existence around you, but fall short as you’re not here to fulfill my existence. At times we all bend, we buckle, but we smile, and we all live to fight the good fight for another dawn. All I’m trying to say is, you make it easier, tougher, seem longer, feel shorter, more colourful, yet still black and white.
And after all, after all of this. . . . I love you.
But you will never know, my darlin’, because the words themselves couldn’t hold the weight that you deserve, unspeakable.



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