Tonight I write,
For the sake of just writing.
Placing whatever comes to mind,
Onto the slate set before me.
But right now,
You,
You are on my mind.
And I would like to write forever.
To have you here,
To pose for this art,
Art of my thoughts,
Art of my words.
You can stand still,
Your back turned to me,
Not knowing I am there,
And I could write you a page or two.
I will write what I have to say,
It may not be the thing you want to hear,
But it will probably be something,
That I really mean.
And then you may turn around,
In a curious glaze,
You notice me,
With sheet in hand.
I take note of your face,
I take note of your body.
Another couple of pages comes to mind,
And you haven't even said a word.
The sun shines down on you,
I take notice of the light.
The highlights of your beauty,
Shine through as it was meant to be.
As I continue to write,
You slowly move closer,
The inquiring look becomes more certain,
And your pace slightly quickens.
Still I write you,
As if you will never come back to me again,
And you take notice,
Of my furious strokes on the page.
Quietly you sit yourself down,
Not saying a word,
Not wanting to disrupt the concentration,
In hopes of a complimentary quotation.
I haven't looked up from my page,
In hopes of finishing the notes
Mentally taken in moments past,
Patiently you wait for me.
Suddenly I finish my thoughts,
I start to tilt my head upwards,
The birds start to sing,
And the clouds are parting.
My head is up and staring,
And I see you,
Like you were in a beautiful poem,
Written for a beautiful person.
We both don't speak,
A silent song,
With a meaning,
That just screams infatuation.
Infatuation?
No, maybe more.
Yes, I would like to believe it is more,
And the look on your face thinks the same.
My eyes see you as beauty,
My nose smells a breeze of lilacs,
I feel the pen and paper,
And again become inspired.
I listen to the silence,
I read the silence,
I reach over to you,
And feel your skin.
Then, could it be?
Skepticism.
Not now, oh please, not now.
I can't help but doubt me.
I don't want to destroy what I have,
With the negative thoughts,
In my dark and shady head,
And then find myself saying something wrong.
I look back at you,
You smile back at me,
And I try to believe that it is,
That it is all okay.
I close my eyes,
Stand up,
Stretch out my arms,
And face the sky.
The sun feels warm on my eyelids,
My nose feels like its burning,
And the birds continue to sing,
Their beautiful song.
No real confidence,
Just a blind dive into the oblivion
As I look back at you
I try to believe I can continue.
I sit back down,
Look back at the sheet of paper,
Glance back in your direction,
And become inspired again.
You as whole have everything.
You could inspire anyone,
Do to anything,
And writing is one thing especially.
Every part of you,
Shines through in a bright light.
Every light different,
But every light is you.
What catches my eye first?
Your smile,
As it begins to unfold again,
I look at it, and I begin to write.
Like the newborn learning it's face,
You give me different expressions,
In order to stir up more,
Of you in me.
Time passes by,
Words are expelled,
And finally the silence is broken,
As you wish to read me.
I finish my thought,
I hand the paper to you,
And now I wait patiently,
In silent anticipation.
Now your facial expression,
Doesn't change at all.
In a strong concentration,
You consume what I have said.
Time has been stretched out,
As the many pages of you,
Are flipped one by one,
By the one that I have written them for.
Your eyes finally tear away from the page,
And take aim at my face.
You look at me with a look,
A blank uncertain look.
I look,
But I cannot read your face.
Did you like it?
I ask.
But you still look at me,
As if you are looking for something,
That is buried so deep into me,
That you need to look right through me.
But you can't seem to find,
Where I have placed you inside me.
You take my hand,
And lead me away.
You continue to not speak,
So I do not know where you taking me,
But we have been walking for awhile,
To a spot unknown to me.
As we cross many paths,
You lead me to a window,
That we can see through,
And see our reflections.
You point to me in the window,
Then you ask,
'Where am I in you?'
And I stand there in thought.
Through the window,
Or in a mirror,
The answer is always the same.
'Everywhere.'
I point to my feet,
To my head,
To my hands,
And lastly my heart.
I can feel you everywhere,
And that is the way it should be.
Then your facial expression changed,
To one of relief and joy.
For the sake of just writing.
Placing whatever comes to mind,
Onto the slate set before me.
But right now,
You,
You are on my mind.
And I would like to write forever.
To have you here,
To pose for this art,
Art of my thoughts,
Art of my words.
You can stand still,
Your back turned to me,
Not knowing I am there,
And I could write you a page or two.
I will write what I have to say,
It may not be the thing you want to hear,
But it will probably be something,
That I really mean.
And then you may turn around,
In a curious glaze,
You notice me,
With sheet in hand.
I take note of your face,
I take note of your body.
Another couple of pages comes to mind,
And you haven't even said a word.
The sun shines down on you,
I take notice of the light.
The highlights of your beauty,
Shine through as it was meant to be.
As I continue to write,
You slowly move closer,
The inquiring look becomes more certain,
And your pace slightly quickens.
Still I write you,
As if you will never come back to me again,
And you take notice,
Of my furious strokes on the page.
Quietly you sit yourself down,
Not saying a word,
Not wanting to disrupt the concentration,
In hopes of a complimentary quotation.
I haven't looked up from my page,
In hopes of finishing the notes
Mentally taken in moments past,
Patiently you wait for me.
Suddenly I finish my thoughts,
I start to tilt my head upwards,
The birds start to sing,
And the clouds are parting.
My head is up and staring,
And I see you,
Like you were in a beautiful poem,
Written for a beautiful person.
We both don't speak,
A silent song,
With a meaning,
That just screams infatuation.
Infatuation?
No, maybe more.
Yes, I would like to believe it is more,
And the look on your face thinks the same.
My eyes see you as beauty,
My nose smells a breeze of lilacs,
I feel the pen and paper,
And again become inspired.
I listen to the silence,
I read the silence,
I reach over to you,
And feel your skin.
Then, could it be?
Skepticism.
Not now, oh please, not now.
I can't help but doubt me.
I don't want to destroy what I have,
With the negative thoughts,
In my dark and shady head,
And then find myself saying something wrong.
I look back at you,
You smile back at me,
And I try to believe that it is,
That it is all okay.
I close my eyes,
Stand up,
Stretch out my arms,
And face the sky.
The sun feels warm on my eyelids,
My nose feels like its burning,
And the birds continue to sing,
Their beautiful song.
No real confidence,
Just a blind dive into the oblivion
As I look back at you
I try to believe I can continue.
I sit back down,
Look back at the sheet of paper,
Glance back in your direction,
And become inspired again.
You as whole have everything.
You could inspire anyone,
Do to anything,
And writing is one thing especially.
Every part of you,
Shines through in a bright light.
Every light different,
But every light is you.
What catches my eye first?
Your smile,
As it begins to unfold again,
I look at it, and I begin to write.
Like the newborn learning it's face,
You give me different expressions,
In order to stir up more,
Of you in me.
Time passes by,
Words are expelled,
And finally the silence is broken,
As you wish to read me.
I finish my thought,
I hand the paper to you,
And now I wait patiently,
In silent anticipation.
Now your facial expression,
Doesn't change at all.
In a strong concentration,
You consume what I have said.
Time has been stretched out,
As the many pages of you,
Are flipped one by one,
By the one that I have written them for.
Your eyes finally tear away from the page,
And take aim at my face.
You look at me with a look,
A blank uncertain look.
I look,
But I cannot read your face.
Did you like it?
I ask.
But you still look at me,
As if you are looking for something,
That is buried so deep into me,
That you need to look right through me.
But you can't seem to find,
Where I have placed you inside me.
You take my hand,
And lead me away.
You continue to not speak,
So I do not know where you taking me,
But we have been walking for awhile,
To a spot unknown to me.
As we cross many paths,
You lead me to a window,
That we can see through,
And see our reflections.
You point to me in the window,
Then you ask,
'Where am I in you?'
And I stand there in thought.
Through the window,
Or in a mirror,
The answer is always the same.
'Everywhere.'
I point to my feet,
To my head,
To my hands,
And lastly my heart.
I can feel you everywhere,
And that is the way it should be.
Then your facial expression changed,
To one of relief and joy.
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