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Big girls don’t cry.

Falling in love with you was like skinny dipping in winter

Falling in love with you was like

Benjamin Franklin

standing in the pouring rain

holding the key high enough

hoping to feel some sort of spark

some sort of electricity.

It was reckless

It was a suicide attempt.

Falling in love with you

was the only thing I felt good at.

 

– excerpts from a book I’ll never write.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

 

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Ballerina

I’ll call her my very own ballerina Image result for ballerina

as she pirouettes in and out of my mind;

her feet barely touching the ground

passionate, yet seemingly detached

as if they weren’t real limbs at all.

I’ll call her my very own ballerina

as she turns and points and scurries through my thoughts

poised and graceful;

dancing her own performance in hypnotic circles

in the theater of my mind.

She finishes in a grande jeté,

She leaps forward from my hidden corners

and bows in front of me,

arms outstretched

white knuckles clenching a beating heart

She was my muse,

and I, her biggest balletomane.

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

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Hurricane

Chapter 389

I was lying face flat on the bed

sweat dripping along the curves of my body

Your fingers  scratching away the memories from last night,

desperately trying to forget.

Chapter 349

You greeted me as you pushed me against the wall of the elevator,

while planting the softest kiss

on my hungry lips.

My heart churned awake

Thunderstorms and hurricanes brewed in the pit of my belly.

Chapter 370

You floated along,

careful to be with everyone

but me.

I replaced the desire of wanting  you

with the bitter taste of vodka.

Chapter 355

You laughed and tossed from side to side

messing our neatly arranged bed.

That afternoon, I found Orion the hunter on your back

Chapter 362

Your perfume lingered on my neck

and I found myself inhaling the memories of you

I was way too comfortable

I was in trouble.

Chapter 381

I’m sorry I didn’t seek comfort

from the warmth of your skin

I wish I was different, sometimes.

Chapter 1

You had me at Hello.

– – – Extracts from a book I’ll never write – – –

Yours Truly,

Painted Shadow

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She used to be mine

I think I watched her a little too intently. I noticed how she lifted all her hair in a high ponytail and I was lost in a thousand moments, when I saw it swish from side to side as she walked down the path. I watched as she scooped a spoon full of rice and hold it mid-air, while her head swung back as she let out the loudest laugh in the room. I was hooked. I watched her eyes – packed with a 100 stories to tell, I watched as they fell upon mine. And in that instant, I forgot what breathing was.

You see there’s something very daringly risky about watching someone so deeply and so passionately. Sometime, someone else is going to notice you. They’re going to notice how your jaw hardens when she passes, and they’re going to notice how your eyes flutter and they’re going to notice that charming smile dances on your lips the second she walks in to the same room. They’re going to notice how you barely blink when she’s talking to you. Afraid that you’ll miss even the smallest second of her. And when that day comes, when someone notices, you’ll be in trouble. Because God forbid that person starts to notice those little things too. God forbid, that person starts to fall in love with those things. Then you’ll be done for. You will no longer have your little bright star. You will no longer have her. Even if it was only from a distance.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

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This is not a love poem.

If I were to write a love poem

I would stitch my fingertips to the constellation of stars on your back

so my fingers would never get lost in translation

I would trace the outline of your body

and draw maps better than Google,

my fingers would find every small dent,scar and bump along the way.

I would kiss you until the name of your lover was erased from your tongue

I would sing you songs about the stars and the moon

and when they collide; when our lips finally touch,

I hope to God they’ll form a world around you.

I would whisper stories about your smile
to the birds and the wind

and watch it sing back the stories for everyone else to hear.

I would argue and debate and fight

that comfort can only be found in the

depths and corner of your thudding heart.

If I were to write a love poem,

I would name it after you.

 

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

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Little Things

I notice little things
a little too much,

I notice the smallest things about a person
a little too often

Like the birthmark at the corner of her neck
isolated and perfect,
my empty hand already writing stories about it.

I notice the jagged lines and dents on his forearm
creating valleys that I wanted to get lost in,
as he stirred his black coffee.
I memorized their rhythm
and just like a snake;
I was fixed in a trance watching his movements.

I notice things like
your off shaped tooth
or the funny scratch on your eye brow

I notice when your eyes twinkle
and when they go dim

I try not to on some days though.
But most days, I enjoy noticing things
Little things.

Yours truly,

Painted Shadow

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Something about you.

1
2
3
I counted his birthmarks against the dawn of a new day;
Pointing fingers at us
And whispering through the curtain
That were thoughtfully closed as we got in that morning
Or was it late night?
1
2
3
I traced his birthmarks with the tip of my index fingers
Slowly and gently
His body rose and fell in a rhythmic dance
My eyes began to study these movements
Memorising it as best as I could.
I drew a map from point A to point B
And then point B to C and back again to A.
Gazing at my new discovery at the break of light
I realised I wanted to be an astronomer
I wanted to study the galaxies between your shoulder blades
And take pictures of the gentle ragged outline of your spine,
Creating craters of lust and muscle.
1
2
3
I kissed each birthmark.
Slowly.
Softly.
Seductively
One. Kiss.
Two. Kiss.
Three. Kiss.
He stirred awake and turned around to face me
Eyes still closed, he let out a soft murmur
And fell right back asleep.
I will have to star gaze another night.

 

Yours truly,
Painted Shadow