your brain is a bedroom, I walk around it in. My eyes scan the walls, my hands feel the books and cd’s. My bare skin sleeps in the white sheets. Your brain is a bedroom, and I don’t ever want to leave. I want to lock myself inside and hide the key. Sometimes the lights go out and I’m so scared I fall on my knees, begging in praying you don’t make me leave. Your brain is a bedroom, but it is not my own. It is one I must learn, it is one I must feel and gravitate through. Your brain is a bedroom, your brain is my safe room, your brain is the oval office and the grandest of hotel lobbies. Your brain is my haven, your brain is yours. Your brain is you.
I have this heavy, burning desire to create. I can’t draw, I can’t sing. I can’t write. I try. I try to get you down on pen and paper but there is never enough words in the world, in all languages that describe what you bring to me. I lay still and listen to you breathe. I listen to the way you speak, how much you know without even having to pause. The knowledge and ease that you hold in your brain makes me feel an emotion no one’s named yet. I think it should be named after you, because no one could case this force of love out of my chest. No one could ever come close to the brain cells you constantly mend and recreate. No one could come close to the memories you and I make. I have to refrain myself from saying ‘I-love-you-I-love-you’ as a reply to everything you speak. I wouldn’t erase a single second, I wouldn’t change a single minute. In your bones you’ve changed the most intricate, intelligent, strong, gorgeous soul the sun and the moon and the stars have ever seen. So when I say I love you, I swear I mean I love every last piece.
From the moment I met him, I wanted to melt away from any aspect of life I’d ever known. It was like there was a noose around my neck and I’d finally untied the rope. Though through the process of loving him, I often tried to jump off the ledge and let my neck break. My shadows taunted me with fears and doubts and words I could never say. He waited, always waited. Waited on me to leave my toxin, waited on me to forgive, waited on me to say I love you again. He waited and he didn’t push, pull, or force. He listened to me scream as I felt my rope get tighter but he never tried pull it off. He gave me the greatest gift anyone could ever give me; He let me take it off myself. He showed me, slowly, patiently, beautifully what real love is.No, he didn’t just tell me like everyone else with their fake words and impure intentions, he showed me with his actions. He showed me I deserved to be heard, he showed me I am strong enough to take any direction I wanted to. But maybe most importantly, he inhaled and exhaled while he did so. Because just by living, he is like poetry. He has more art inside himself than any museum and he has more light in him than the sun itself. So, he didn’t save me. No, he’d never give me such a great injustice as that. Instead, perfectly, slowly, he showed me how to save myself.
I think there’s something to be said about having something to believe in. for awhile, that didn’t mean much to me. I had my anger and I had my grief and I was fine living in a miserable state. Hell, I even made people miserable with me. And then, I met you. I tried so hard not to love you. All my efforts were completely in vain. There was nothing I could do or ever try to do to keep myself from loving you. There is so much in you, there is light and love and joy and somehow I’m not angry anymore. I filled with contentment, i’m filled with you and your laughter and your heart, everything you believe in. my armour is down because you have been fighting with and not against me and i want to love you so insanely you feel it in every inch of you. Im blown away by your mind and your ability to love someone so beautifully, your inhales and exhales are my favorite poetry. Your words are my favorite words, and although i hate to abuse words, i want to tell you i love you every minute of every day. Because no matter what, no matter how many times i say it, it’s never enough. I love you more than those three words could ever express. And I, endlessly and whole heartly believe in you.
I know who I am, or at least I like to think I do. I know the things that make me up, like my favorite songs and colors and words. I know how I got the scar on my knee cap and the exact map of the freckles on my nose. I know what I believe in.
I used to remind myself of facts when I got stressed, like there is no one else in the entire world with my exact full name, but there are 11,323 people with the first name Chloe, and 82 people with the name Chloe Belle. I often wonder who they are– how they think. Are we connected? Is there some kind of weird same name alternate universe in which we all make up one person?
Multiple realities aside, I don’t use the facts anymore. When everything is crashing in and I can’t seem to think of a single reason to wake up tomorrow, I tell myself these things:
Christian is 6’4 and sometimes he acts like he doesn’t remember things I’ve told him so he won’t look like he takes everything I say to heart. He has no idea, but I can tell when he does this– because I can feel him memorizing me when I speak like each word is going to completely change his entire life. I can feel him falling in love with me. He knows so much about everything, and his vocabulary goes from 65 year old harvard grad with a PHD in english lit to a 14 year old dopey who doesn’t get enough sleep. He loves things hard, and he doesn’t let too many things strip him of that. He is constantly collecting words, knowledge, facts. He inhales them and they stick to him like glue. He is honest and cruel but in the sense that comes from the purest place possible and he is changing every single thing I have known to be fact my entire life. I make list of him to keep me calm and keep me safe. He knows the darkest parts of the world; the darkest parts in me– but he stays bright eyed, yet realistic. He is a walking contradiction, a living and breathing oxymoron, and he is the love of my entire life.
Please come home to me and lay in my bed. Please come home to me and talk to me about all the tears your fears have made you shed.
Please come home to me and let me make you laugh instead.
Please come home to me and touch my skin,
please come home to me and give me a reason to began again
please come home to me and let me make you feel safe,
please come home to me and let my love take your demons place.
please come home to me and lay in my bed,
oh my love, just rest your head.
please come home to me, body soul and all,
because a home without you isnt a home at all
so I’m standing in front of my closest, my hands scanning each item, my head busy and buzzing and spinning. I’m on the brink of tears, but not in the normal sense i have been lately.
the good kind.
just like that, a switch is flipped and every thought in my head is another line of a novel i could be writing, i burst. I’ve been trying to force the words for months. I’ve been trying to write when nothing would come. and here i am now, every line a new story.
i feared so deeply it was gone forever, but here it is,
my sweet, beautiful, safe word bubble.
i pray this time you lasts.