Petit Bourgeoise

random soliloquy

"t'was a just dream" Someone whispered right in the middle of nowhere. But all I could still do was panic. The moment your face suddenly came into view. I felt my long lost hands longing to touch you again. To Feel the eternal warmth of your skin. The catastrophe I created, to happen again amidst the chaos and traumas that follows. For a moment, the kleptomaniac in me got awakened and it wanted you, steal the whole you and keep it for my self with a sticky mote on your forehead which read "Sharing isn't caring when its about him". For awhile, I couldn't feel my legs touching the floor, my hands shivering as if it got chills, my heart bursting out, thumping and bumping louder than ever, and my head crumbled up with neverending thoughts. I doubted what its all about, do I still love you or is it just that I miss you?. For me, you never failed to steal my heart, neither did you fail to break it into two. Followed up by the anxieties inside me and the melodramatic dreams my heart fire up, I lost the new imaginary me that was holding into the fact that everything's changed. Awakening my thoughts that, dreams can at times be more powerful that memories could ever be. Colliding the positive sides with the words left unsaid and the negative side which is still dwelling into the part of you. Your tender smile,  my heart always wanted. Your smooth hair, my fingers loved crawling into. Your almond shaped eyes, I loved getting lost with. And you, the vampire inside me always craved for. The moments, when The butterflies in my stomach chant right into my ears to hold your hand and the warmth I feel inside 'em. Maybe just maybe, its too hard to move on. Maybe just maybe, All I wanted was your words, that soothes the whole me whenever I felt low. Maybe just maybe, the shattered heart never mattered at all, when all I could ever do was love you to the core. You're my rame. You are my joy and pain. Weird huh-? But that's how it always worked for me. Just like, if I were a philocalist, you are my beauty. If I were a pluviophile, you are my petrichor. If I were a bohemian, you are my literature. If I were an eccendentesiast, you are the smile I crave for. You are my Robert Forst and my John Keats. You are my Romeo, and lemme be your Juliet but we aren't dying. Let's choke in our endless un-dying love. And fly, beyond the horizon and never come back, being the lost boy and girl fitting inside Neverland so that we never grow old. Maybe, it wasn't just a dream but my heart reminding me over and over again, its too hard to give up on the love that touched me the way nothing ever did.