Foreword-having had to delete my previous iterations for reasons I shan't allude to (🖕🏼). I'm coming back to my poetry. It was all written for one girl. A devastatingly beautiful and broken soul. On the off chance she's reading these. Vaer så snill å tilgi meg. Det er smertefullt uten deg.
  1. •
    I wanted to show you your beauty. In the faint light and hollow resounding ring of memories under written word.
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    To express to you just how wonderful you really are. That your impact on my life has been nothing short of astounding.
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    You stepped into the world of an introspective, contemplative, private, and by all accounts angry boy and you shook me with your friendship.
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    That look.
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    Like hopeful satisfaction. Like the brilliant softness that envelopes one as warm and comforting as any day in the folds of sunshine on tall grass.
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    How your eyes shatter my fortitude. Break down the barriers and brick walls between me and the rest of the world.
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    That the tune of your song is of a haunting note carried far across the floor of forests deep. Low enough for every flower to open up themselves to the depth in you.
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    And high enough does your melody fly that all stars shine brighter for having heard it.
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    Your beauty is that of the effortless quality which all truly divine forces partake in.
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    As the clouds that hide us from sunlight had until the winds, like fate, blew them apart and I alone remained in your brilliance. Basking like the eager flower, soaking you in.
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    And it was how you opened yourself to me. Let me into the softer side of you. Opened doors to rooms in you I could not have seen into lest they unlocked themselves.
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    And they were special. Special because they were a part of you.
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    And as I learned more of the important things.
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    Your pain and your triumph.
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    Your struggles and your hardship.
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    Your worries and your fears
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    Your dreams and your expressions.
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    I discovered just how intricate you were.
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    I saw so many of the lines and pieces which came together in the fabulous artistic masterpiece which is you.
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    As divine as any painting in the fingers and brushes of the ancient masters.
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    But better.
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    Because you are and have always been ever changing. Constantly shifting.
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    Within you remains a plurality of infinite possibilities.
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    Stretching out like the vast ephemeral plane of space but with so many more stars that I am blinded as I set my eyes upon you.
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    And like the sun itself how can anyone expect for you to see your own sunlight?
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    All there may remain to you is the harsh darkness of space. Pain. Broken occasionally by the briefest momentary joys.
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    Stars and passing comets.
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    Fleeting though they are. My only wish is that you might realize your real brilliance. It is only in these darker times and corrosive, acidic, moments that the real nature of a person glows through.
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    And the nature of your influence, like a great celestial body on space that bends time around itself.
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    Or the quaint mountain pond disturbed by a rosary in its center. Sending out waves just by virtue of your place in reality.
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    You are of the strongest as much as you are the gentle.
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    It is the most wonderful moment when you unfold to me, when you blossom, revealing the cracks and the pain and your peaceful ideation's. And your dreams.
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    The infinitesimal ways you speak and think and breath.
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    The most profound collection of images, thoughts, form, and heart.
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    So powerful is your gaze on me. Alleviating my troubled mind. Picking me up with such ease on the wings of a token adoration.
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    To know that such a woman would gift me with her presence.
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    Let alone her softest words.
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    Her precious thoughts.
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    Her private pains.
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    And her broken pieces.
  41. •
    I am awed.
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    I am humbled.
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    I am inspired to lay next to you. To take in every word, every breath from you.
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    To capture you in writing is to capture light as it flies.
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    To look at you is to look upon a rose. So soft, yet dangerous, inspiring your beauty without so much as the faintest hint of awareness.
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    And it is with the highest difficulty. That I find anything comparable to your beauty. Like describing the sunrise to those blind of color.
  47. •
    And though I grasp at these strings.
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    I can only hope that I succeed in revealing so much as a fraction of you.
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  50. •
    You told me you loved me after you read it.
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    My greatest hope when I close my eyes at night is to go back and relive that moment.
  52. •
    I hope you still dream about me.
    The way you used to.