Old metaphors for love.

Old metaphors for love.

Happy Valentine! I hope you’re having a great day! I don’t have much to say except that this poem is based on one of the oldest metaphors for love – beaches (or oceans or water, whatever it is). I came up with it while talking to a close friend and I decided that today would be the right day to post it. I hope you like this poem! Comment a lot? (Tell me anything about love)

Beaches have been metaphors for love
for the longest time.

In 2008, I was a scarecrow
standing at the edge of the world
where the sand and the water conversed for days.
With my arms spread wide, I would stand there
and let the wind run around me
in circles, and we would giggle together
at the horrible ways the sand
would flirt with the water.
Once, the sand recited lines
from John Legend’s ‘All of me’ –
“My head’s under water,
but I’m breathing fine.”

and it was hard to tell if the water was blushing
or if it was just 6 pm.

Continue reading Old metaphors for love.

Fairy-tale love.

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). Also, Happy Valentine’s Day!

“Someday you”ll be old enough to start reading fairy-tales again.” – C.S. Lewis

He was real. She didn’t think he would be.
The first time he laughed,
it was like fireworks in the night sky.
She could look at him and
see all the hues of emotions that colored his skin
as his lips curled from one end to another.
She could hear the waterfalls crashing hard against the broken stones
as he giggled like a child who’d just found a new toy.
She felt his chuckle spread warmth to her cheeks and
the corner of her eyes creased
like the white shirt he was wearing.
It was beautiful.
He was beautiful.

He always kept his word.
He made the chocolate chip cookies he had promised on a Sunday morning,
and he stayed while I cried at 3:04 am.
He expressed himself with a tint of mystery,
but with no boring exaggeration.
He wrote me letters,
on tiny post-its
The words he wrote, are probably what my favorite novel holds.
He made me breakfast,
And took me out on dates.
He had the exotic manners
of a fuckboy,
and the raw sexuality
of one, too.
But he had the intentions of a wallflower,
the introvert with faith rimmed spectacles,
and a love stained tee.

He could cook my favorite Madeleines.
He could dance,
And spin me around in circles till I fall into his arms,
As he picks me up and we make out,
On the way to bed.
I knew he was my fairy-tale love,
When we grabbed me by the waist,
pushed me against a wall, and held my hands above my head,
Looked me in the eye till I couldn’t just look anymore,
I kissed him for the first time.
And my foot just pops up.

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Related post : Cinderella’s shoes.

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