march seven

something i wrote while fiddling over my feelings for a boy in my theatre cast.

his love is like 

how the earth holds still and rests for a moment right before the dawn light rips through the peaceful sky, 

how apples taste when you first bite into them,

how inhaling feels when you've been underwater,

the beginning of everything and the end of all things as well.

do i love him? no, i don't. this feeling isn't intense.

this feeling doesn't make me weak in the knees with pleasure when he touches 

my shoulder, lips, my--

thighs, 

he makes me want to plead to stay here forever, existing with him, 

but

i know he 

isn't the one

and i'm not 

his

he, 

himself, 

is quite literally my muse, my catalyst, 

my shooting star,

the end, and everything in between.