blackhearts & sparrows

Brains. They’re a ruin. 

“Physically, I want you” was all she could muster. 

Clockwork will consume us for the rest of time; Until the hour hand ticks over midnight. The rest of time. 

You make me feel sick to the stomach. 

And there, I will find you, 

Up in the tree tops, 

Reaching for the roof of the earth, 

We confide in. 

We’ll fight, for our bodies, to be. 

We’ll fight, for our bodies, to be. 

You’ll never know her, or who I go to sleep with. 

I will you all the love in the world;

Just please don’t take mine away. 

Please don’t take mine away. 

Please don’t take her away from me. 

Love is a funny fucking word. It’s a curious idea for a totally consumed existence. 

He says this - “When I am with her, life seems grey and cloudy, like the centre of a rainbow. I don’t understand what’s happening. I won’t see past the green in her pupils. And when I see her, I hope her arms are what I’ll fall into upon the beginning of each night. There is a certain clarity to her outstretched arms; and serenity in her crossed legs. The palms of her hands speak loud thoughts and her mind turns over quicker than the blood runs through my veins in her presence.”

Perfection is a cliché fucking expression of this love ideal. 

To this she responds - “But right there, I’ll dust you off and make you new again. But only as you would see fit. The one thing, I want you.” 

I don’t understand.