this is real life
I wrote something beautiful about you. It made me feel alive and validated... in the mushy, kid- like way. Where for a moment the wisdom of age and innocence of new love met. Magical feelings that sprinkle like fairy dust. It represented all that we had accomplished together. I felt love, in love and I wanted you. Today what I write to you is broken and bruised. It's shaded with graphite pencil, darker in its core. I don't feel that magical, colorful, wistful love. I feel the havy, dirty, mud stuck to the bottom of my boots, the ones that don't fit me in the first place. I am wet, knuckles bleeding, fists clinched, teeth shifting back and forth as my Jaw viciously controls each movement. Their is a big storm brewing... the storm chasers won't be able to catch it. Mother nature can't stop it. I will hide in the bunker, hope for sunshine in the morning and will venture to explore the destruction, alone, tired, wet, knuckles bleeding, fists clinched, teeth shifting