The light gets in the way but I need it

I’ve tried all sorts of things. Gotten myself in all types of ways trying to find good vibrations to thrum at my heart strings. Want that 24/7 butterfly sensation in my stomach.
Want every mouthful to taste sickly sweet, chewy, sticking to my molars and the roof of my mouth. Tonguing the remains for hours on end with no ‘relief’. Hand to God I believe in love. No boundaries, no restrictions.
I’ll take every oath under the sun.

The thump, thump, quickening thump of my heart palpitations bring panic and only make it worse. Chest feeling way too tight, like perhaps my lungs have just shrivelled up and disappeared. Left me to flat line ‘cause they’re sick of aiding a hopeless romantic. Then regularity kicks back in and I let my eyes roll to the back of my head while I thank my heart for not giving up. Not quite just yet.
But the burn and ache remind me I’m real.
I hate every second of those is this the end? moments, then I reflect and want to dance the night away and into arms just one more time.
In case I wake up dead, ‘cause it’s a concrete possibility.

It’s like a lens flare on the perfect photograph. You thought you’d captured the quintessential essence of your subject until you’re flicking through the developed pictures weeks later and realise you were at the wrong angle. The light hit the lens and you’re a moron for not noticing at the time because you’ll never get that moment back, now it’s but a silhouetted memory. Can’t just reset the studio and pose your love anew.

While I’m terrified my ticker might stop ticking I’m not actually afraid of death. I don’t know if that makes sense, and I’m not sorry if it doesn’t. The only thing I’m scared of is not knowing if you might fall in love with me, not having that chance. It’s the only chance I’m asking for, ever will ask for.
Though I’m not such a deserving girl. I live in a pit filled with liquid.
The fluid is thick and teeming with weird fish that aren’t fish but I don’t know how else to describe them. They’re kind of carnivorous but they won’t harm you if you dig up the courage to dive in.
Swish, swish you’ll feel them brushing your calves and exploring what patterns live on your skin. You can talk to them, they all have voices. Lift them above the surface to see all they’re pretty colours and glistening scales. Hear them chattering about the memories and emotions they hold, listen too all my secrets kept in these wet creatures. They’ve got big mouths for the right ear.

I live in a house where my brother is too lazy to go outside and smoke a cone, too lazy to even crack a window and my bedroom is adjacent to his. So, I suffocate in this weird, sweet smell and it makes me feel like I need to shower all the time.
Tends to bring me thwack back into reality when I’ve got my eyes squeezed shut because I’m dreaming of the day I get to wake up at 4:30AM to fly out of the country by eleven. It’ll be the end of summer so getting out of bed will be easy and I’ll be so warm and fuzzy. I’ll run straight into the shower and wash every millimetre of my skin twice before I feel clean enough of Australian dirt to leave.
‘Cause I’ve got this feeling that I might jet off to a place I could call home.
But I’m not sure and it’s making me curious. Nervous. Expectations are high but not too high, so I know they’ll be met. Don’t want any undue pressure, I’ve already presented enough of that and it made me want to break.
My fingernails will be freshly falsified, hair newly trimmed and coloured, bags will be precision packed and planned carefully weeks prior. All the information stored in one of my colourful not fish.
Lingerie, shoes (heels but not too high), Canon 60D with all the bits and pieces, sweaters, dresses, scarves, a book for the plane ride. I’ll feel one hundred percent prepared though I won’t be.

Then inhale, back to reality….

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