Stupid Technicolor Heart

I would like to hold your stupid hand.

I want to run my fingers through your perfect stupid hair.

I want to tuck into your stupid shoulder and fall asleep hearing your stupid giant heart beat.

I want to sit on your dumb porch and hear every incredible, stupid idea you have ever had.

I want to feel your stupid, talented, beautiful fingers tracing stupid, secret shapes on the small of my back.

I don’t care if there can’t be some label on whatever we are doing- I just want to do the stupid things with you because they are fucking wonderful. Being in your stupid presence is so annoyingly lovely and I hate everything about it.

I want to climb into your sadness and make myself a home there. 

I do this thing and it often brings me heartache and I simply do not care. I have always been reckless with this stained glass heart of mine because sometimes when you throw it up in the air the light shines through it and these fractured colored bits cast a brilliant kaleidoscope all over the world. I take the risks because the payoff is bold and bright and shoots like a rocket into this deep dark sky and all the pain goes flying away from the blazing pyrotechnics like oil from water.

And sometimes I don’t catch the damn thing when it falls back to earth, but it flew for awhile and I’ve learned how to put the pieces back together and somehow it’s better than it was before, and even more beautiful.

So fuck it. I’m gonna hold your stupid hand.