chaos

I fell in love with your lines,
the ones you leave on paper,
a thin pen, smudged with ink,
your restless hand tracing my face
like it’s some ancient map
you’re still trying to decipher,
as if I hold the key
to a treasure you’re not sure you even want.

I fell in love with your wrinkles,
etched deep in the corners of your eyes,
like little roads that lead nowhere—
or maybe everywhere.
Even in the shadows, even in the abyss,
your smile cuts through it all,
and I wonder if you even know how bright you are.

I love the sound of your breath,
the way you pause like you’re about to say something profound,
but instead, you sigh.
I watch your eyes move over pages,
you fold the corners too fast,
like you’re chasing the end
before it can run away from you.
Like the story’s too close to real life,
and you’re not ready to finish.

I love that with you,
I don’t have to be anything but this—
just me, all flaws and mess.
And you? You wake up like it’s no big deal,
your eyes, the first thing I see before the day crashes in
with all its noise and nonsense.

I fell for your lines,
the ones you scribble in your journal,
like the world is a puzzle
you’re just this close to solving,
while I’m still wandering in your organized chaos,
trying to pretend I’m not lost.
(But let’s be honest, I’m lost.)

And your chaos?
It’s a disaster, let’s not kid ourselves.
But damn if I didn’t think
it was the most beautiful mess
I’d ever stepped into.