The Butterflies And Elephants I Sleep With.
My Dear Butterfingers,
I was only passing by when I happened to
notice her dance in the silence of the dance studio. The only music I heard was
the sound waves of her body movements; feet gliding across the floor like a
paint brush on Da Vinci's board painting the Mona Lisa; hands floating like she
was one with the wind, for a moment there I swear I thought I saw her take
flight as if she was looking for her heart and only heaven had the answers. I
stood there mesmerized and I felt butterflies in my stomach...it also felt just
a bit awkward, especially when she noticed me. I wanted to say something, trust
me I did, something hot just to break the ice or something lame like how normal
boys would do. Something like, "hey
there little miss sunshine, has anyone ever told you that you're a thief? A
beautiful thief in fact. When you move it's like you're robbing the bank of my
chest of its most priced possession, so forgive me if I act a little heartless
and I'm late with my compliments, it's just that you've stolen my heart. I
guess what I really mean is, your beauty is like a Tanzanite, it's a rare
discovery."
But I didn't say anything, the words never actually came out. So I contracted back to the confines of my little box, where the imagery I just saw only ends at the fibres of my spectacles, turned into a song I heard when I wasn't listening echoing sparingly into oblivion. And the butterflies in my stomach turned into elephants that take over my bed while I sleep on the floor with my poems cuddling. Dreaming about pickup lines that never really pick up anything except the space in my manuscripts and that giggle I always make when I write them. The thing is, my dear Butterfingers, I've never really been a sucker for love like Cupid in his nappies, his arrows were always deflecting off my heart-lock, cause my old man told me that true love is for pansies. He did that with the silence of his absence. So little girls never stood any chances, I only took what I wanted from them and never gave anything back. How can a young man know how to love if he never experienced it himself as a minor? Our hearts are like ticking time bombs, ready to explode and cave themselves in at the first sight of vulnerability. I still ask myself, 'how come out of all the girls I dated I never truly love any of them?' It was all a game, it was a gamble like the game of dice and my soul was the price. I guess we never really know the cost until we pay. At the end, true love is a drug and we all crave it, so I figured that's why most men lock themselves into solitude confinements, because it scares us so much when we finally find it.
I don't really know how to express my
emotions, God knows, I always tell Him every day on my daily devotions. For
more than two decades now I've never been able to tell my mother how much I
really love her, so how could I tell a girl that I barely know? Pour my heart
out into hers to liven up her face with a smile, to let my soul speak to hers
like how God speaks to mine, letting our spirit connect in a perfect fit like
the stars and the Universe. I'm not even sure if that's possible. So I made a
vow that I would not be like my dad, do the kinda things that he did.
Disconnected from his emotions and misguided in his ways like unwarranted
dispositions. I pray every day not to end up like that. But instead my faith
and hope I keep in God, to teach me how to love and act right. That one day I
may be able to approach a girl at the library of God's wisdom, decode an
arithmetic that will make her smile, opening the door to her heart and letting
it speak to mine. And I'll know, Beauty has finally won the uninterrupted eye
of the Beholder.
Its grace thought, that gets us there
Butterfingers, nothing else. God is our Father from whom we're to learn how to
love, but not only that, but also how to express that love through both
emotions and actions.
Let's keep catching the little foxes...
Yours Affectionate Brother In Arms,
Ringtale, The Guy Who Plays A Certain
Instrument.
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