“Do you…read here often?”
Note to Self: If you ever meet another beautiful girl who can write badass poetry and likes beer…don’t fuck it up.
The door was locked, but not from the outside, or even the inside; I just couldn’t get in. Something about the way I was jiggling the handle maybe, perhaps it was righty – loosey, I didn’t even think to try. So instead of looking for another way in, I just…gave up. I walked away without obtaining what I desired, without truly giving it the effort it deserved. Someone else might walk up to the same door, they might run, sprint, and once they get there, they will know just how to get it open, and they will walk into a room, a life, somewhere I’ve never been, and they will know what happiness feels like, a world I’ve only imagined in words.
Perhaps I should become a locksmith…
The key to the locked hearts of some are the wads of cash that fill the pockets of those that gave up on their dreams in search of wealth. If by some chance I scratch a ticket and become rich, I will walk by those with their hearts waiting for the green paper, I will walk by them and hand a single rose to someone who is pure of heart without the need for such an obese purse by their side. You do not deserve the world I possess if you are only in search of blind pleasures. I can sit peacefully in front of a notebook and be happier than millions of people punching in and out each day, though little paper may fall to my words scribed, it is the joy of doing it that brings me to spend life pulling words from my heart each day. It will refill with more tomorrow, memories don’t die, as I one day hope to be, forever living on in the hearts of poetic.
I thought about what she said. About me. About whom she thinks I am. How could she know when I do not even know myself? I spend countless ticking seconds waiting for a life I am unsure how to achieve. Yes you are beautiful, but no, I cannot dwell here, for it has been filled up by the hatred I have for losing myself too many times within such recent pasts.
What is the worth of a second?
Countless seconds become my word
Because of the so few
That have made me smile.
Used has become me.