The Woven Silk Of

I loved a girl

like the earth loves the rain,

knowing she’d never stay,

but needing her just the same.

She cried once in my arms

and I caught her tears

as if they were stars

fallen just for me...

but she wept for him.

I bandaged wounds

carved by another man’s hands,

whispering lullabies

to a heart that beat for someone else.

Every time she broke,

I shattered more quietly.

She kissed me...

like a door half-open,

warmth lingering on the threshold,

but her soul still pacing

somewhere far inside a house

I was never invited to live in.

And still,

I gave her my all,

a love without borders,

a fire without fuel,

a sea willing to drown

just to hold her reflection

for one more second.

Is this not the cruel poetry of love?

To give,

not for return,

but because you were born

with hands that only know how to hold,

even when holding means breaking.

They say unrequited love

is the purest kind.

Perhaps because it never has the chance

to rot with reality.

It stays eternal;

not because it lives,

but because it dies

beautifully.

To love like this

is to bleed in silence

and call it devotion.

To smile through heartbreak

because her happiness,

even in someone else's arms...

still feels holier

than my own.

- Cyrus K.

"I swear there is no greater burden than to wait without hope."

— Beau Taplin from The Waiting

She believes she knows my ache,

she thinks she understands my sorrow,

because once, she too was broken.

My pain is

a slow implosion,

a daily funeral

with no mourners,

a storm I must swallow

so she may walk beneath clear skies.

She remains with another,

while I cradle her chaos in the dark,

I try hold her world steady,

bleeding in silence,

so she never sees the stain.

Quietly tearing at the seams

just to keep her whole.

I laugh when I want to scream.

I smile so she can cry.

I disappear so she can shine.

And each day,

I wake inside a coffin

just to hold her hand.

This doesn't feel like love.

This is a man burning

so she may feel warm,

and never knowing

that the smoke

is me.

-Cyrus K.

She rests in the arms

of a man who cannot feel her storm,

while I drown

in the flood she left behind.

I feel like a spider,

strung with longing,

spin webs from torn ribs

to catch the ghost of her smile.

Her laugh...

a blade I swallow each morning,

thanking it

for the pain.

I would tear the stars

from the throat of the heavens

just to watch her eyes

glimmer one more time.

My love is not gentle,

it is blood and bone and burning rope.

It is sleepless nights

stitched with screams

no one hears.

This is love,

where I am the pyre

and she,

the flame

that never stays

but never dies.

-Cyrus K.

Everything is about perspective. ~beccawise7 💜🖤

Joy Sullivan, from “These Days People Are Really Selling Me On California”, Instructions for Traveling West

“One smile can start a friendship. One word can end a fight. One look can save a relationship. One person can change your life.”

— Unknown

so soft it hurts