When I Think
When I think of kindness, I think of your eyes. How they would acknowledge both my flaws and virtues, giving each trait their fair share of praise and constructive criticism. How they would undone all of my harsh predispositions about myself without seemingly to try or guess. How they regard me with softness—without judgement of the deeds and mishaps that I did throughout all the years that I have lived without you and all the adversities that I will eventually face. How they would exude warmth, the kind of cocooning warmth that I seek shelter in.
When I think of willingness, I think of your hands. How they are bigger than mine, and how they are willing to handle all my thorns, splinters, and sharp edges. How they are aware of the immediate painful effect that those fractured pieces could bring. How they know which part of these fragments need to be softly held or harshly gripped.
When I think of willingness, I think of your hands. How they are bigger than mine, and how they are willing to handle all my thorns, splinters, and sharp edges. How they are aware of the immediate painful effect that those fractured pieces could bring. How they know which part of these fragments need to be softly held or harshly gripped.
When I think of truthfulness, I think of your ears. How they are able to easily filter everything that I say, and come up with spot-on conclusion on the actual idea that I want to relay on. How they are able to decipher the stuff that I want to say without having me to completely communicate it. How they are able to accommodate minuscule mood changes by easily picking up different tones and pitches.
When I think of persistence, I think of your lips. How they are able to repeatedly say all the right words to dismantle all these walls of labyrinth that I had purposefully and deliberately erected to fend off unwanted (all) people from hurting me more than I hurt myself. How they are unwavering in their quest to strip all the pretences that I had built around my persona to become softer, digestible, likeable version of myself. How they are able to coax the most me out of me.
When I think of friendliness, I think of how you could easily befriend my demons. How you could effortlessly point out and recognise each and every one of them. How you could treat each of them with respect they deserve for being my companions before you came into my life—even if the respect you offer is laced with underlying purpose of expelling them out.
When I think of romance, I think of you. Come home to me my dear, this wild heart is already yours.
When I think of friendliness, I think of how you could easily befriend my demons. How you could effortlessly point out and recognise each and every one of them. How you could treat each of them with respect they deserve for being my companions before you came into my life—even if the respect you offer is laced with underlying purpose of expelling them out.
When I think of romance, I think of you. Come home to me my dear, this wild heart is already yours.