cinnamonwhispers - Tumblr blog

[cinnamonwhispers]

my mother taught me how to be patient and vulnerable. how to explain your feelings of love through your eyes and through your fingers. she told me how to peel pomegranates by digging your fingers into the flesh and plucking out the seeds gently. but everytime you hand over a pomegranate to me, i am overcome by a sense of impatience to reach to the core. i am overcome by the desire to get to the seeds before I can be patient with the shell.

Every time you love me, i want to reach your heart before i know what it is like to feel your shell. i never interested myself in what made you build your walls and how to break them slowly. I dig into the flesh of your skin with my nails and reach your heart but I cannot find anything. my hands are covered in red because I was impatient to break down your walls to find your core.

so this time, i will sit with you patiently and peel off your shell and break down your walls slowly. gently. patiently. just like my mother taught me. till you feel brave enough to hand over your core to me.

[cinnamonwhispers]

I think when people ask someone to peel an orange for them, they are indirectly asking you to peel away the layers of their shell and to see the soft fruit within. To squeeze the nectar out of their soul and have a taste of their mind. They are asking to peel away the layers of their heart to watch what happens when you discover that they are not as sweet as oranges should be. they want to watch you experience the nectar of their soul be a little sour and sweet at the same time.

They want to see if you have the patience to peel away all of the layers of their personality and still find something not-so-sweet within.

and they want to know if you would still love the sweet-and-sour fruit in them. or would you throw it away because people do not like sour oranges?

[cinnamonwhispers]

i think when you ask someone if they can peel an orange for you, you indirectly ask if you are willing to peel away the layers that make up your personality. you are asking them if they are willing to be patient with you and if at the end of it all, even if the orange tastes somewhat sour, would you still take the time to peel away all the layers?

[cinnamonwhispers]

you healed a part of me that I did not know needed healing. you touched my soul and held my heart so gently that I cried my eyes out. you cupped me in your arms and made me feel so alive after so long that all i wanted was to drown in the depths of your ocean eyes. your ocean-doe-shaped eyes rimmed with the perfect eyelashes that took me all in the first time I laid my eyes on them. my coffee-coloured-huge eyes on your ocean-doe-shaped ones.

you healed a part of me that I did not know needed healing by kissing the scars on my soul ever so gently and wiping my tears away softly every time my mind was raging. every single time my mind raged, you leaned in so calmly and held my face in your hands that made my heart flutter and the voices in my head were not so loud anymore. they are never loud anymore. they have grown to become quiet and sombre just like your soft touch on my skin.

you healed parts of me that i thought were ugly by touching them with your fingers and with your ocean-doe-shaped eyes. and i never felt ugly anymore.

[cinnamonwhispers]

your laughter made my heart warm and soul flower with a garden of lillies the first time I heard it. the first time you laughed out loud at something I said, i couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked. your perfect teeth framed by the outline of your perfect thin heart-shaped lips letting out a sound of happiness made my somewhat-heart-shaped heart flutter. and i couldn't help but think that all i wanted was to make you laugh everyday for the rest of your life.

and you laughed again today at something I said. i am pretty sure you did. even though i couldn't hear it through the small text messages that said "you are funny", I am pretty sure you laughed and i smiled thinking that you did. and i wish i could do this for the rest of my life. even if it meant not being with you, i would not think a second if it meant that i could hear you laugh again.

[cinnamonwhispers]

"i am terrified therefore I write."

[cinnamonwhispers]

and i slowly begin to wonder. how do I make you stay alive in my memory when we love from a distance. how do I remember the intensity of your touch and the feel of your lips against my shoulder and the soft brush of your fingers against my waist. how do I remember each and every detail of the lines of your face and the shape of your nose when it has been days since I have felt your touch on my skin?

And so I decided. I will recite it to my loved ones. i will preach your beauty and the way you love me wholly. The way you shower your soft reassurances on me every time my heart is breaking for no apparent reason. Every time you hold my hand when I feel too nervous to walk alone. And I will tell the stories of how you have the most beautiful eyes and the most serotonin-inducing laughter that made my stomach turn and my heart skip a beat like a teenager in love for the first time. Oh how the realists would call it the "initial stages of falling in love" but how did it matter when you came and you loved and loved and loved till I was sure of your love for me.

So I will tell stories of you. I will describe your touch and the feel of your kisses as poetry and as verses for everyone to read so that in some way, in any way, I will be able to remember your kisses, your soft reassurances till I am able to feel your fingers on my skin again and till you lock eyes with me again in a crowded street.

[cinnamonwhispers]

i am terrified of writing poetry for you. my hands quiver and they begin to fail and blood drops appear on my nail beds every time i take out my book to write poetry about you. i tear the pages off in frustration wondering why I am only capable of writing poetry that rips out the hearts of people and not poetry that makes them understand the feeling of being in love or the beauty of your starry eyes when you lock eyes with me. I am terrified of writing poetry about if you can break my heart only for you to loathe me.

So i write about the beauty of falling in love with you. probably for the first time in a very very long time. Even in the terror of it all, writing about being in love with you was more liberating than sitting with my thoughts of if you are capable of breaking my heart.

And so I write. and i fall in love. all over again. terrifying and liberating.

[cinnamonwhispers]

there is this underlying thought in me where I believe that i ruin everything I touch. The things I want turn out to be things that are not meant for me, and the relationships and friendships I have been in, all evaporate into thin air with the slight touch of my fingers. With the slight touch of my fingers they get ruined and my fingers get burnt.

I believe I am like Icarus who went too close to the sun and burnt his wings because he believed. He believed that the sun would accept him with open arms if he could just touch the rays. Only to get his wings charred and fall to his death.

And i ruin everything I touch. Including you. including me. So i tape my fingers close together so that they don't feel your skin under my touch. so that I don't ruin you the way Icarus ruined himself because he believed the sun could love him just as much as he did.

[cinnamonwhispers]

your voice calling my name echoed in empty hallways.

[cinnamonwhispers]

i wake up to the sound of the bell ringing. The clock shows 8 AM. i walk up to the door and open it only to find an empty hallway. i count the number of times I have opened the door to an empty hallway in one week. Two, four? I close the door and walk back to my bed. The sound of the bell ringing always echoes at the back of my head. Just like your laughter. Your laughter that I do not hear anymore. Your chuckles that could be heard in between the shelves of bookstores, the laughter that grew gardens in my heart, i can hear it all at the back of my head.

I can hear you calling my name over and over in soft whispers and muffles from the corners of my room. The sounds that emanate from you have become hallucinations that I hear at noon, when the house is in absolute silence.

The doorbell rings again. At the back of my head. I sigh at the hallucinations and i turn over to my side and fall back asleep. I wonder how many times I will wake up to you calling my name only for me to run to you and find an empty hallway.

[cinnamonwhispers]

paint my body curves

with your kiss and fingertips.

aren't we all art?

(haikus by Christa)

[cinnamonwhispers]

you whisper my name in between kisses. my name on your lips sounds rasped and soft, almost like I have taken control over your senses, over your voice, your smell, and your sense of touch. my belly is a canvas that you paint with soft brush strokes of your lips, your hands framing the art within your embrace. the world seems so small in those few moments where we intertwined creating art through whispers of our names and fingertips touching bare skin.

[cinnamonwhispers]

i should have left you

the day I cried and felt that

"I deserve better."

(haikus by Christa)

[cinnamonwhispers]

my hair is longer

i have grown out of the pain

that once consumed me.

(haikus by Christa)

[cinnamonwhispers]

Your lips engulfed mine

breathing in every bit of me.

Your scent- trapped in skin

(haikus by Christa)

[cinnamonwhispers]

your eyes are sparkling

your eyes on the busy road,

Mine admiring you.

(haikus by Christa)