termites of the page

Words freshly placed against the soft terrain of a blank virtual white page. I never have a reason to create these; however, I simply thought of your smile and felt the nouns, adjectives, and verbs seep from the river of veins and into my fingertips.

Is this what happens when people let themselves feel?

I’m astounded randomly within my daily life at the velocity in which the love travels through the capillaries and into the freshet of blood that soothes these bones. Finding that the pulsation of emotions makes me overthink the chorus of these words. I wish to feel relieved at the end and able to sleep soundly, untouched by the rackings of my brain.

I can’t find the words to describe you, or what happens in the layers of epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis when you’re present.

You’re that someone that I’ve never experienced before.
Someone to talk, wonder, and grow into acceptance with.

I stop constantly and think about what to say next as I gaze at the soft lines of your smile. I feel stuck, and the words dry up as I wait and wait. As previous entries regurgitate, I don’t know what to say in regards to you.

I ponder, I forget, I accept.

I don’t want to keep writing about you.
The plague of a storyteller who’s too choked up and swooned to give respect to the stories.

Every chapter has been about you.

Tonight, I just want to forget.

Yet, the picture I look at still tells me that my skin is swollen with uncategorized emotion.