Punctuation

lepidopterarium

It comes effortlessly.

So, in theory, I could tell you effortlessly.

But theories are a lot less than reality.
And even reality is far off from how it actually happens.
Theories are more than fantasies...so now that we know the rankings.

Although it might come effortlessly,
and although I might be able to feel the words playing with my lips,
they are tapering off into a cloud of smoke into the cavernous infinity above us.

There is no reality here.

There are no actual happenings here.
Only fantasies.
Worlds I've created inside my head that warm my heart in ways I can't ever understand.
Worlds that don't truly exist, but are prettier than any flower that does.

The words fill up inside of me as effortlessly as rain water fills a pail.
They just can't escape the forcefield that is my steel-trap mouth.

Maybe this is all for the best.

I've never been good with my own emotions, reading them, displaying them, playing them, moving them, explaining them.
So how can I expect to open them all up to you if they are that incomprehensible?

That's just it; I can't.

I can't tell you that I wake from dreams of us into a world cold and lonely without you.

I can't tell you that I find your eyes to be the prettiest pools of coffee I have ever seen.

Nor how incredible you looked in your trench coat last Sunday, while the rain poured down and flooded my family's evening plans.

No, I can't tell you these things. And I can't tell you the millions of others about you that make my heart burn like embers in the night sky and my stomach into a lepidopterarium.

The words come so effortlessly.

So, in theory, I could tell you without stumbling over my own, idiot tongue.

But theories are a lot less than reality.

Especially when you realize you are forever living in a fantasy.