People say to you, ‘you’ve changed’, or something like that, well, I hope, for the sake of God that you have changed, because I don’t want to be the same person all my life. I want to be growing, I want to be expanding. I want to be changing. Because animate things change, inanimate things don’t change. Dead things don’t change. And the heart should be alive, it should be changing, it should be moving, it should be growing, its knowledge should be expanding.
I. I’m flawed and awkward. I’m clothed in imperfections, metaphors, and ink stains. I’m a tangled mess of lackluster poetry, unfathomable emotions, and indescribable thoughts.
II. I’m not Juliet and I never will be. You’re not my Romeo either, but Shakespeare didn’t write us and this isn’t a tragic love story written on parchments. Whatever this thing between us is not meant to be told in sonnets, verses and soliloquies (if it’s meant to be told at all).
III. I fall way too deeply for words. My heart escapes the tight shackles in my rib cage before I could even fathom it when someone proclaims that stars dance in my eyes and lilies reside between my lips (that I’m beautiful).
IV. She writes for you. She longs for you. She’s honest with you. She was there first. I write for you. I wait for you. I keep most of my thoughts from you, and I’m sorry. I don’t understand what they mean, so I’d rather keep them to myself for now. But maybe that will be my downfall.
V. I can easily get lost in the realities I’ve constructed in my head. I live in daydreams and fantasies that will never materialize in front of me - in real life. So waking up from them makes me ache because I think I’ve fallen knee deep for them.
VI. You managed to make me feel something that I’ve never felt before. You made me feel as though I deserved to be told I’m beautiful - as though I deserved to be cared of. So maybe I’ll never be the Juliet in your story, but I hope I still play a part in it.