The Magic Weaver.
Post from the past 17.
I write and write the night away; while others empty the bottle of wine, I empty my sorrows. Sadness drips like rain in the autumn night. Every song sings the tale of my longing, but with each note, I dream away the frantic search for your heart. Heartbeats and long breaths keep me alive.
I fondly love the night because of the mystery of the blinking stars—it’s as if they talk to me about wisdom and magic. I breathe deeply and hold my breath before releasing the emotion of envy. I envy those who can see you every day while I have to wait in line. But just for tonight, I walk away from the queue and find myself a corner at the edge of the world. I sit quietly and look up at the clear night sky. The starry night covers me like a soft blanket while tears drip like pearls down my cheeks. They are worth diamonds and rubies, and they belong to a girl who has never known what defeat tastes like.
Defeat? I have never fought before, so battles are unknown to me and I have never known the sense of loss. I am a winner without having to pick a fight with anyone, and my hands were not made as fists. They were instead made to hold your hand with consideration and romance.
I want to walk with you through the hours that draw to a close. I want to show you that I paint twilight to soften the bright light of the sunrise, so your eyes will delight in a sun that makes the sky blush at the glance of your gorgeous smile.
Your beauty takes my breath away, and my eyes are grateful to have the ability to perceive the reality of your existence. You exist, and I cannot live without writing love poems to applaud your presence with a cooing sound of tomorrow and another tomorrow. Because you are the promise of happiness, and I am the weaver of magic. I will catch you if you fall.
Every time.
