If the difference between a garden and a grave is what you put in the ground, what is the difference between me and you?
Are you an optimistic person?
Someone so drunk on hope, you're blinded by faith and it causes you to believe there is something good within any moment, even when everyone tells you there's not.
Are you a troubled soul?
Trapped so far within your mind, that you pray one day— one night someone will be smart enough— strong enough to fight the beast inside you and free you from your tower of malformation.
If I asked you to tell me a story where would you start?
Would you make up some fairytale in which we were both princes, loved by everyone and flawless or would you tell me the story of how we met?
Would you whisper the words like a secret, so soft and gentle with your voice so that no one could hear but you and I?
If I asked myself these questions, I'd tell you nothing but the truth.
My glass is half full until I make it half empty. I'm not much of a troubled soul in that sense, if I've already saved myself.
I'd start with the story of how I found this boy and mistook him as a fragile flower. I'd end with how I made him mine. Your name would replace ‘boy’ everytime. I wouldn't portray it as a secret because my voice isn't quiet or soft enough.
I'd hold you with every word in fear you'll go back to your pages and my imagination will once again get the better of me. I'd lean back on the couch to confirm that my head wasn't in the clouds and I'd keep my eyes open and pinch myself to assure I wasn't dreaming.
At the end, I'd tell you I love you and I'd mean it.
-𝘝.𝘚
©v_s
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