by Leah Stone
For your own interpretation.
Sometimes I think love is just another word for paradox.
Love is a cypher, attempted by deficient decoders trying their hardest to be the first crossing the finish line; The first ringing the bell, bragging before their competence, not sparing any time to learn love. Perhaps my opinion is only filled with malaise, poisoning my hope. Or maybe, my experiences are just tainted by evil. Though my outlook is heavy, and my thoughts melancholy, I still carry expectations; A hopeless romantic screams just beneath my skin, begging to be recognized. How can something so sour on my tongue be so enchanting in my bones? Is there really such a battle between heart and mind? Why must tomorrow be so promising, and yesterday so depraved?
"Someday.." They say, "Someday it will all make sense, and you will feel more than a burn in your being at the mention of falling,"
They don't listen when I say I only wish to find love that is more than paradoxical. Falling isn't what I fear, it's the hand that pulls back when I reach for reciprocal aid. Am I only made to decode? To cross the finish line, to ring that bell and feel so competent...yet, so discontented?
I never learn.