two roads to walk down and one road to choose.

they say that to love is to be fully human.
I don't know if I love you,
which makes me question my humanity.

They say it's a feeling,
like knowing that you want to paint purple into the waterfall,
orange into summer trees,
red into the darkest night sky
without knowing why they belong there.
When I paint, I do so by feeling.
moving my brushes over the indentations that are so important to watercolour paper,
a place to hold the over-zealous painter's mistakes
the expert's genius,
the child's smudges.

sometimes I close my eyes and run my hands over your face,
feeling the braille of your nose
and the heat of your cheeks
and wondering whether you know
how badly my heart wants to leap out of my mouth.

I could fill books with the things I wish I could tell you
but instead, swallow hard, and never do.

I need perspective.
With my feet perched high above me in the concrete tube,
the world makes more sense
and the birds always have something to say to each other.
The flowers whisper back and forth in some sort of purple language
(a colour I'd've painted yellow, if God wanted my opinion).
And I come to realize, purple or yellow, orange or green,
the trees are still beautiful
and there's a beauty in not having the words.