It's like we're tossing rocks to count ripples, plucking petals to collect pollen and burning paper hearts to make starry flames. It's like I'm provoking your anger just to hear your voice in frustration, covering my lips so you don't hear the way I seem to liquidize even in the cold. It's a lot like love, darling, but we're fools, we're far fetched and we're ridiculous and I never wanna hear you say you love me.
Because you don't know, and I don't know and no one knows!! No one knows that you spend days looking at my picture, playing with your hair, tangling your fingers until there are knots and you laugh at the way you pull,pull,pull and can't get me out of your head.
No one knows that I stand in the rain, laughing, collecting droplets on my tongue, whispering your name and watching it write itself on my window. No one knows that sometimes I say "I'm beautiful" and they'll never hear "because of you". Everything goes from complex to simple, hot to cool, chaotic to clear because you know what? We don't have love. We never will.
We're made up of disasters, pasts that don't add up, memories that rattle in each other's heads and we're liars. We're just clocks without hands. We're ocean beds made up of stardust and lace. We're book reports on non existing literature pieces. Gosh, sweetheart, what are we doing? Ask me.
And I'll say we're pottery masters and this is our vase of -something- people like to call "love".