233.

You are the sun: bringing light to everything you touch.

231.

It is a curse to feel deeply, they grieve

That words cut thinly with surgical precision

Every hint of betrayal a jackknife in the ribs

Fear manifesting from surrounding shadows

Burnt with overwhelming sorrow

To hear the shattering of one’s world into unfixable pieces.

.

Yet is it, I could not help but to question

The privilege that few have a chance of feeling

Pouring affection without reservation

Joy in the smallest of things

Whisper love into the deepest wells of sadness

To know the constant lull of the ocean like my own heartbeat.

215.

It takes an appreciative person to admire the flowers. But you — you’re a whole new level of special, you stop and admire the scrawny seed, even from the very beginning. Invisibility just another form of sight, to you it’s all the colours at once.

160.

Is it preposterous that I am in want to protect you?

More so when it is only recent that I have come to know you. Somehow, slowly through moments miniscule, you have become unexpectedly dear to me. From the impulsive lending of the cap to asking if I’m doing okay, there are various sides to your easily won smile. The little things you do, showing that you care. Leaning forward, running to offer aid.

Came to me in the night you did, and I am grateful. Showing me a shadow that might cause alarm and distress, but it only made me want to hold you closer. Give me time, let me gather much armour, sword and shield to keep these disturbances away. Bring with us a light that never ends.

Sitting by the table just there, I cannot help but to watch you. Note the seldom serious look and the handsome haircut. Your hands, they relax on the surface before the next conversation gets them into expressive gestures. Quietly laugh.

Yes, perhaps it is preposterous to yearn protecting you. Though you stand tall and seemingly immovable, this is what you have done. Have me drawing one step closer.

153.

And hold on, even when the cracks show and the wood roughens, when the unwinding layers of an onion burns the eyes, when splinters catch the arm. Sometimes they just need to hear the sound of someone’s steady heartbeat when theirs is breaking.

132.

Your heart is ever so warm, like a woolly blanket I want to wrap myself in on a cold night.

126.

Your eyes are welling up with the tears you won’t cry.

(Would you let me reach in and help them dry?)

122.

“I know how much you love books, but there’s no greater book than the Bible.”

— A note from the loving friend, who continues by saying I haven’t read the book (contains a collection of Bible verses that are about peace) but I hope it would be a form of encouragement for the days to come

121.

Rewriting an old piece that holds a portion of myself.

—

Best friends, pursuers of the world hidden within words. She speaks often, but he remains imprisoned in the mind despite superior comprehension. In the quiet reads, there is a feeling to strive for.

There he is, leaning against the large tree trunk, balanced on a branch with a burgundy tome in his possession. The consumption of knowledge undeterred until sight is obscured by pesky hands.

Articulate her name with a notable scowl, earning a laugh from the brunette, bearer of a diminutive smile that he adored best. Hello, she utters, and while he has every intention to shake his head at the impertinence, it does not come to pass as a gentle notion flutters across his complex mind.

She acquired a fear of scaling trees after an incident involving the death of a featherless baby bird. It tumbled out of its twig nest. Accusing herself a murderer, the pain and guilt that beset the heart. This fear he prayed against, that its tendrils would no longer need to tangle with her conscience, that he would be one quelling these possibilities. That they would have to creep past him to get to her.

The silly idea that hums at the back of his mind.

The fact that the brunette scales the tree would mean two things: that she is prepared to overcome her fears, and that she is in want of his company despite adversity. Incredibly heartwarming. Congratulations, he says tersely, before returning to his read. Dissatisfied by his choice, she pesters him with childish methods before imbalance overtakes.

Eyes wide, arm outstretched to catch the falling, astonishment flitting past chocolate eyes, the strange lightness of being before crashing. The throbbing that slowly receded, even she notes the magnificent cerulean sky. Turn to the side, lips that curl.

Best friend, she mildly teased. Didn’t you promise me that you’ll catch me when I fall?

Auburn eyes that crinkle. The voice that stirs wizened leaves.

I already have, are the words he softly whisper as he raises their interlocked fingers before her very own eyes.

And had she not known any better, it is surely in that moment that her heart would have swayed.

99.

So much power in the act of writing, or so I choose to place my faith in. I have written letters for people with no faces and no names, crafting pieces for an unknown recipient. I do not think that I am foolish for trying something unreturned, for who knows if in these secret doings will someone find reason to hope again?

Leave a scattering on the car window, pages of old, table worn and other possible places. Run like the wind, don’t get caught or the magic spell may find itself undone.

In my timid heart I do fear that I may be playing with fire, but I will continue building and see if there is more than this fragile house of cards.