MEXICO CELEBRA MEDALLA DE ORO EN FOOTBALL OLIMPICO
Foto: Jadiel Galicia
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She is more than just her body.
Pay attention to the way she speaks about her dreams.
I mean really pay attention.
When you see the way her eyes light up when she tells you about her passions; you will swear that God gave you your own personal star to take care of.
Stop her if she apologizes for being a burden, and assure her that you enjoy her presence and her smile that grows wider and warmer with each second like the morning sunrise.
If she doesn’t apologize, stay quiet; that means she is sure of herself and that’s wonderful.
Listen to her thoughts long enough, and you will realize that she is more than strawberry lips and satin skin.
Her voice will become your favorite song, the runner up being her laugh only because there’s just something about the way she sounds at 2am when everything is quiet except the inside of your head and she is all you can tolerate.
You will look in the mirror and your reflection will feel incomplete; the space left over when she is not around will tug on the heartstrings you forgot you had until you next meet and when you do, you will question how her soul can be so shiny in such a dark world.
She will become everything you think you want and everything you fear; her words spoken with an intensity that will make you believe there is fire coursing through her veins hotter than the flames of life that forged her.
The only thing able to match the heat will be the way she touches you like she wishes she could burn her name onto your skin, not knowing that you already feel like her image is seared into your eyelids, and as if things couldn’t get any worse, she will smell amazing.
She is a hurricane and you will know this but you will want to call her home.
I’m telling you, she is more than just her body.
And if you’ve managed to see her naked, you still haven’t seen anything yet.
Maxwell Diawuoh, Below the Surface (via wnq-writers)
She was a nomadic lover, a wanderer at heart.
She danced through life with the soul of a gypsy.
Making homes out of people, but never staying long enough to call them her own.
I thought maybe if I loved her enough, she could find my heart to be her forever place.
She was like a metaphor I didn’t understand
An excerpt of a book that I’d never get to read.
Reducing her to just a girl was like reducing poetry to just words. It was like reducing love to just a feeling, and war to a mere disagreement.
I couldn’t pin point home on a map, but I’d found it in her arms.
She no longer lived inside my chest, but she’d left her fingerprints on everything.
And even though I was just another stop on her path; She was my entire journey.
indieluhv (via wnq-writers)
She was like the beach. She had beautiul, warm sand that everyone loved to be in. And she had hundreds of pretty shells lining her shore, each one unique from the other and you could spend all day discovering new ones. And her oceans were just the right temperature. They were welcoming but just cold enough that no one stayed too long. Yet their depths were beyond frigid. The farther out you went, the colder it became. The farther down you went, the darker it became. Storms brewed and undercurrents swept violently in those parts of her, but the beauty of those opalescent waters surpassed that of her shore.
W.D.W (via wnq-writers)
The night has set in and with midnight approaching she takes off her make-up while glancing at her reflection in the mirror, the bathroom sink she rests her spare hand on is in a house that no longer feels like home and she’s living a life that no longer feels like hers. The only thing that feels the same is the midnight beauty regime, after the storm that striked today even her face doesn’t look quite the same to her.
The sun will rise in the morning, the stars will shine at night, the rain will eventually come, and the snow will fall and no matter how long it takes things will come your way, it’s just waiting for the right time.
jupitarslastorbit