Of little not-quite-stories

Unfinished melancholies

And I can't ink them fast enough

These words - a little rough

Around the edges and inwards

Into themselves are little worlds

Would you hear them out for me? 

I'm feeling

Unknown peculiarities

A tingle of memories

I can't truly lay claim as mine

And emotions - they intertwine

Making falsities glimmer like truth

Yet in truth I am confused

Would you say it out for me? 

I'm waiting

For skyfalls and shoe drops

For time, how it loops and stops

Like a heartbeat jolted abrupt

Everything can simmer and erupt

And time then turns meaningless

An accessory for the masses

Would you hold it out with me? 

As happy as I am on each birthday where I'm constantly surprised by the love I receive from the people around me, there's still that easily distracted part of me that thinks about turning into a dandelion seed just so I can take to the skies and watch everything from a different point of view. But seeds have no eyes, no mind, no heart. My fantasies remain worlds inside my head.

Today, I'm grateful, but the word seems to carry no true weight. The human heart isn't made of fabric and stuffing, yet mine feels bursting at the seams. How does one describe the feeling of a thankful heart leaking out through the gaps of stitches to permeate the entire me in one simple word? I'm filled with everyone I love. I'm fueled and lit; a candle, a torch. Am I dazzling enough to light up the lives of the lovely souls around me?

Today, I'm moving on, but the phrase seems too vague to have meaning. I am apologetic, for the sadness I've been cradling of late, for the burden I've inadvertently placed on others and myself. Being kind, for the longest time, meant placing everyone on shining pedestals except myself. Deservedly, for all the people I love and cherish are special and important... but perhaps, today, I will start building my own little pedestal.

Today, I'm content, but the idea behind the word seems superficial.

Someday, I like to imagine, when I meet someone new, I wouldn't ask them to introduce themselves in the normal fashion. "What color are your dreams? Do you still think about your favorite scent when you were five? Where do you keep your smile when it isn't in use? By the way, how do I address you?" But for all my curiosities, I'm far too used to regulation.

I dream a lot, even when I'm awake. I'm sure it happens to everyone, one way or the other. In the short time it takes for me to take a sip of coffee, my mind wonders about things from how good a slice of cake would taste along with the sip, to whether my waistband feels a little off-center, and if coffee would have no scent in space. Do scents exist in space?

Sometimes, the busy thoughts in my head revolve around people. Those I love, those I want to get closer to, even those I meet once and never again. I don't really like talking about myself, so I tend to wonder about everyone else. It's my curiosity again, and I think it would be simply amazing if I can order conversations along with my pizza. Tell me about your day. Tell me the first thought that crosses your mind when I say 'magic'. Do you believe in magic? I don't mean the kind with wands and potions and abracadabra. Somehow I feel inadequate, in that I never seem to have anything interesting to add to conversations, but there lies a secret to be kept.

Is there a thing such as having implicit trust? In a friend, a diary, a hideaway. If promises are meant to be broken, then what use are secrets once they pass your lips? The trouble with being curious... it doesn't kill. It only leads to more questions no matter how many have been answered. There's an almost insatiable need to know, if only because I'm certain my mind is one that clings to the idea of enigma. The more questions I have unanswered, the more attracted it becomes.

And people, to me, are often enigmas.