Date a girl who listens to music.

Date a girl who listens to music.
You should date a girl who listens to music. Because when you date her, not only do you date her physical being, you date an amalgamation of every lyric, melody that has made her laugh, cry, awe and pause. She will know the smell of the lyric booklet when she opens a fresh cd and know the intricate beauty of placing the cd in her cd player. This is something that will show in her when you’re with her. The little things matter.

Date a girl who listens to music because the earphones in her ears while you speak to her isn’t an insult, it’s her secret way of sharing what she holds dear to her heart with you. Date a girl who listens to music because she has felt every emotion imaginable. She is ready for anything that comes her way because she’s felt it before.

When you date a girl who listens to music, find out what her favourite songs are, the ones she listens to at 3am when she can’t fall asleep, the ones when she’s at her lowest and listen. Listen to every drum beat, every note and every lyric and feel it. Feel the entire song resonate throughout your body. This will bring you closer to her than you could ever imagine.

When you’re with her, each day becomes a song, a constant melody. A song that doesn’t stop playing until both of you have fallen asleep in each others arms. She will understand this more than you will ever know. The choice of wedding song will substitute your vows because she doesnt need your words to explain why you will be a good partner, you’ve done it already by engaging with the thing that she holds closely to her heart. Your children will be physical embodiments of the song you create together and as long as they’re alive, the song will forever be perpetuated to forever be heard for generations to come.

Date a girl who listens to music otherwise you will miss out on the melody of life. The song of nature and the voice of the sky. You won’t learn to appreciate the value of words and how well placed they can be within the chaos of instruments and the entire world.

She will be your song and you will be hers. It will be unique and you will never hear anything like it again.

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I've imagined an infinite amount of possibilities where I have seen you, spoke to you, told you things I wouldn't tell anyone else, where you have told me things that you wouldnt tell anyone else. But none of these possibilities and hypothetical scenarios don't mean anything, because they aren't happening. The pictures in my head cannot be more real than actually seeing you, hearing you, smelling you and touching the smooth skin of your arm. It cannot be more real than staring you in the face, running my fingers through your hair and explaining to you how I fell in love with you and why I love you.

Fuck

We constantly think about who has fucked who or who's fucking who but really, who the fuck cares? Don't you have better things about than who's putting their dick in who? I'd rather hear about who carved a hole inside who's dark heart, planted seeds and watched it grow. I'd rather hear about how someone tormented another with unconditional positive regard and I'd rather hear about how someone violently spoke 'I love you' into every atom of another's existence. That's what really fucks you.

Oxytocin

I want to love myself, I want to see the cracks underneath my skin and repair them with all I have. I want to reach into my heart, pull out the demons and start again because I need to. I have to tear out my fears, my pain and my suffering to learn to fall in love with myself despite the imperfections. I will caress my tortured soul and shed tears of glory while I am reborn.

Anagram: thead

I'm ashamed to admit that I have thoughts of dying. Staring over the edge of a balcony imagining the cool air graze the skin as I fall into finality. The moment of infinity turns finite. The last breath of air and the pull of gravity make for one more sweet song ringing through my ears before it all turns silent. These last thoughts spent on my personal demise as the final act of selfishness. It all sounds beautiful but don't believe the weather is perfect the day that you die.

Dysmorphic

It starts with innocent doubt, making petty excuses for yourself such as things that you can't change. It's your character, your mannerisms, your voice but then the voices turn darker and stab deeper. It's that you're 160cm tall and will never grow, it's that tiny piece of fat in your belly that keeps you from the figure of your dreams, it's the size of your shoulders because the weight of the world is already too much to handle. The voices growl and enter the pitch black, it's the fucking way you look at them with those sad eyes, it's the stick thin arms that couldn't cradle a feather even if you wanted them too and the ribs that crack upon judgemental eyes feasting upon them. This all happens because you are not enough, you are never enough, your body is the living pest that no amount of pesticide will kill so people have no choice but to run

Equals Parentheses

He stared at the camera, pleased at the image it produced. He smiled at himself, smiled at it and the ball held tightly in his chest slowly lifted. It was the day that some of the walls he built around himself subsided and pushed him through into the abyss of esteem.

That's what I'll do. I'll take in the liquid in order to sleep and I'll light the stick to deal with it, to deal with the fact that I love you. You're so aversive and it pains my heart and soul to see you elsewhere when I don't have the courage to open up my gadget and send you three lines.