I have had the chance to write piece after piece, line after line,
And in the past few weeks, my brain has fallen blank.
My imagination and the attention to every detail on your face
Has been frozen in time, crystalized in a liquid glass.
There is no release or letting go of what I could call my muse,
What a daunting thought.
So I grasp the ceramic mug that could hold the cure to all my morning problems
Closely to my chest and I breathe in the scent of my favorite elixir.
But there is no cure for a broken heart… or something like that —
Some cliche statement that you would hear someone’s “wise” mother say.
But we aren’t broken, just miles apart, and painfully so.
The unanimous yearn for an “us”, even among disapproving friends and family.
What to even think of it… The most communication we’ve ever had,
And we aren’t even “supposed” to be having communication.
And that’s just life, or “it is what it is”…
And all along I thought that life was supposed to be what you make of it.
So what do I make of it?
I am just me;
A girl with my hair tied up in tangles and knots,
Refusing to brush because I know how much it will hurt.
But the sun still shines, and the clouds still roll,
Regardless, unaware of our tangles and knots.
And the wind still blows,
Worsening the tangles and knots.
And how I would so love to continue to be tethered to you,
The both of us, a tangle and a knot.
So I won’t cut it, and neither will you.
A bond so strong, that the locks continue to grow.