*the lightbulb* ^^
Monday, January 30, 2012
I really can't picture anyone having a crush on me. I can’t picture someone thinking about me before they fall asleep, or telling their friends about me. I can’t picture anyone getting butterflies because I said hi to them, or even just smiled at them. I can’t picture someone smiling at the computer screen or their cell phones when we’re talking. I mean like; why would they even do that? I’m just me. Nothing extraordinary, or special.
I am the left brain. I am a scientist. A mathematician. I love the familiar. I categorize. I am accurate. Linear. Analytical. Strategic. I am practical. Always in control. A master of words and language. Realistic. I calculate questions and play with numbers. I am order. I am logic. I know exactly who I am.
I am the right brain. I am creativity. A free spirit. I am passion. Yearning. Sensuality. I am the sound of roaring laughter. I am taste. The feeling of sand beneath bare feet. I am movement. Vivid colors. I am the urge to paint on an empty canvas. I am boundless imagination. Art. Poetry. I sense. I feel. I am everything I wanted to be.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
In the beginning I couldn’t speak to you.
Not because the words wouldn’t come;
it was because they might. Not words like love,
blooming where they fall; words like come here.
When once you turned to look straight at me
out of a crowd, I thought I must have let
the sounds inside my head come out, like “let
us all go home.” I wouldn’t say to you
the wet, small words that moved inside of me.
I have thought that faith and patience would come
to no good end, that you would say, “See here!”
and never say, “Well yes, I think I’d love
to follow you home; to tell the truth, I’d love
to have some wine, then talk awhile, then let
you pleasure me.”
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Protect her, love her, kiss her, hug her, hold her, smile with her, laugh with her. But don`t make her fall if you don't plan to catch her
“Guys don’t show so much emotions in front of girls. They feel that when girls see them cry, they’re weak. When other guys see them cry, they’re gay. But sometimes, you can see a real man behind those tears. You just have to appreciate those precious tears.”