Ray Fiennes is Good at Being Angry, But I’m Not

Give me your eyes,

and I’ll hold them in my mind.

These brief glances of innocence I keep as treasures.

The smiles you give and the moves that you make endure,

constantly replaying in the caverns of my heart.


Every beat sings your name no matter what I do to block it.

I’d love to stop loving,

but whenever you enter my space, chills shock my senses.

The notes you play make my pulse race,

though on your end of the line, we move together rather formal.

Each and every interaction comes to you as normal.


The view I see you in will never be shared so long as the scales are unbalanced.

I try to realize you will never love me.

I try to recognize the signs that are all too clear to me,

holding too tightly to normal nothings that feel like everything.


In place of rational thought, I throw letters together as footprints,

hoping you might follow; you might be willing to be buried in the grains.

You and I can carry this baggage and drown with it or swim to shelter.

We can call this corner of the Earth our home, reserved only for us.


If this essay of mine has no substance to find, proceed.

It was nice to know the you that I dreamed of,

and it’s a harsh truth to know I won’t meet her.

There’s so much distance now but so much feeling.

I sit here in Bruges awaiting your final passing phrase.

Please let your shot miss.

You’re too far away.

( ❤ Mitch)

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