hot summer nights

My heart is made of summer nights,
that crushed velvet violet tye-dyed
with wisps of hot pink ribbons
cutting across the surface.
It sneaks up on you and then
presses down on you entirely,
imprinting itself much deeper
than you'd realized.

But once you notice it,
that violet fades to tender blue.
That's where you live in my heart.
You live where ocean breezes and
oil paints cascade in summer
nights framed in silver and gold.
You live where that blue never
burns out and winter never
eats those nights alive.

My heart is made of summer nights,
and those nights were made for you.

via *

lightning rod

I like him, I think.

I don't remember how that feels.

The tripping trepidation,

the bubbling bewilderment,

the thought of someone new

on the horizon. 

A few weeks back

he told me he was ready to

give up on love.

He's been so hurt,

his care never being returned.

He says my friendship means the world.

How do I tell him

I've been hurt too,

I've given all of myself

and lost every inch of who I was

for love.

His words always inspire me,

his last name sounds like adventure,

his first name sounds like hope.

He is an artist.

I'm weak for artists.

His mind is marvelous.

He makes me feel creative.

Heard.

Understood.

Worthy.

Talented.

I don't want to see our 

friendship disappear. 

I can't make him ready if he's not. 

But every time his name flashes

on my phone screen,

my heart flips.

I told him not to 

give up forever.

Just for now.

Wait it out,

love will strike again.

How do I tell him that he

has become my lightning rod? 

via *