Dearest

Storyteller

Dearest,

You are my greatest confession and worst consequence. My redemption heaven~sent however untimely; hands aligning with a dispirited epilogue, every last sighting.
My soul sways to a tune of daydreams that possibly could have happened but never didn't.
There are remember whens of way back when; our silver tongues danced across the air, amissing cupids arrow.
The emotions grew but the petals of a rose fell and thorns scarred deep into the weeping lovers heart. 

I were young; thinking of marriage too soon and scaring myself into the Atlantic Ocean. An island deep below; a world drowned and ruined but still relics remain of a mysterious place unknown.

We had a place but we never didn't, it's hidden treasure from an archaic shipwreck.

I hoped like once upon a time, snow white and prince charming would find their way back again even if one ate a poisoned apple.
Even if one were in a sleeping casket; they'd surely find eachothers ghosts and marry then.
I tell myself; that is why, 'I don't worry' for energy never lies and what is meant to be will be even if that means in the afterlife.

Don't you know, I love you? Is a silly question, it's not in what you say, it's what you do but then again, we never held hands.
A hug when times were rough but that is just what friends do and even then friends also say, I love you.

But in the afterlife a party happened and you took my hand then and said, you know you're my sweetheart?

A sweetheart is a soft spot in the instrument that breathes life, the circular blood flow in ones veins that beats a sugarplum song.

Bipolar is a Polaroid in replayed memories, there never seems to be the right explanation.
The way we acted and what we said, what was even said and who acted out the most? Does it matter? It's not in what we say but what we do and what did happen? But also, what was said too?
You think about words and I say the worst but I put on a performance and you watch. You love your highlight but not what they say next, not their facials even tho they don't know it. They don't know how to accordingly react to the words that hit home in every sweethearts heart. She just wants to entertain for the moment, trying to keep happy alive for the present. A seer she is always seeking, looking farther along like it's her job to accomplish a mortal mission. Success and riches, a provider before the left hands digitus medicinalis.

When you say you're homeless, it makes me worry because your not homely although you need to be; within yourself in order for a structure to build for us.

I am not your home and you are not mine, we're a mansion, a grand palace, a castle of puppy love tales.
Forget me not flowers are our debut and bluebells are our mistletoe.

You are a lions strength of hearty spirit, brave, courageous and confident. She seems shy but really she's not, she is an undercover blindside hiding in an hourglass. A little Mischievous devil, a succubus, a siren, well to dearest him anyway...
She can be a doe but then again no, her rainbow is glowing but she really is a fucken ...
He calls her sweet when that is undeserving, he really is a knight without the armour. A heart on his sleeve with every word he spills, giggle he flows and raw unspoken but somehow spoken truth of L.O.V.E he feels for her.
Why is she such a fucken ...
But he is the biggest rhyming and riddling, manipulative mind of love and hate, his equalizer is always on when they share a space.

To me,
they're so annoying.

They don't even know eachother just the topic at hand and discussion on the spot, wisdom flows, conversation goes, laughter is shared and yet still they are strangers. But they are not, it's like telepathically speaking, they know the most about eachother however he knows more because she's a chatterbox. The random who lingers on until he ... He never says stop. But she never cares to ask a question although she does, he just sucks at storytelling and likes the way she tells hers so she's the greatest answer and he's the bestest questionnaire. However I'm not sure if she actually does bother to ask him how he is. But she does, he just doesn't like answering. Why should she get insight when she's not in his life? That's how it seemed to her anyway, ... Or perhaps I'm just such a conceited chatterbox.