There are days that never make sense, but then there are days where everything just falls into place. And you know one person shouldn’t have that much effect on your life, but then they do. And gods, you are grateful for feeling. And yes, you still have to remind yourself that sometimes it’s okay to win. To remind yourself there is nothing wrong with feeling something other than loneliness. When you get so used to being alone, you wonder how to let someone in and that’s difficult, but try anyway. Try.
I treat love as a battle: it’s tactics, strategies, and casualties and sometimes you just won’t win.
I mean, how can I win when you start smiling at me? It’s as if the corners of your mouth are pulled upwards by the sky itself, gravity had lost its battle with the upturns. And I’m going downhill from here, you see, each conversation with you feels like explosives detonating inside my chest. My rib cage, a bomb shelter, but shrapnel has a way of reaching your bloodstream. You are poison running in my veins, how else can I explain the erratic way my heart is beating? Any faster and it might stop. You make me stop dead on my tracks, a puddle of lovesick beneath your feet. You made me want to duck for cover and be in your line of fire at the same time just so I never miss your moments of victory. You make me forget about safety, your existence made me reckless. And to be honest, your voice sounds like gunshots straight to mine; and I, have no fight left in me. Your eyes are like quicksand, pulling me in as I panic in being pulled in. Armed with the knowledge that I have to react slowly but being in slow motion means getting lost in them.
And I’d rather you find me instead, I’d rather you turn my eyes into beacons of light. Turn my arms into your home. My hands, your compass, just to be comfortable enough to know that if you ever missed a turn, I’ll be there with you. I’d rather you turn my skin into hope, every touch a beginning. My mouth a prayer. My spine is yours if you need to fortify your own. Scars litter your body and I wonder if you are as careless with your heart. But even then, I would still place my lips on your battle scars until the story leaving mine will color in your misery. I will weave your pain into a tapestry of courage and drape it against all of your doubts until your demons forget what they even are. I’d rather you count my eyelashes like sheep when terror stops you from sleeping. You made me believe in dreaming again, you know? You made me believe in giving in to being human, to losing control. To forget battle plans and the art of war. To succumb to the truth that even when love is a battlefield, it’s only a matter of finding the one who would take a bullet for you or whom you would take a bullet for.
So yes, I treat love as a battle, awaiting for a ceasefire that always seems to be never soon enough; A state of just being held in your arms, of sharing space. Or breaths. Of feeling skin, of lips touching, of reaching. Of sharing. I treat love as a battle; and sometimes, good God, sometimes, you win.
//P.S been reading my books again.