The Boy with the yellow diary

Earth Like the ground beneath her feet she holds everything to her and has a certain pull. She is sturdy, unafraid, and solid in her resolves. When she walks her feet fall with purpose and her eyes reflect the brown of the earth encompassing everything else around her. Fire She is fierce and she immolates herself with the love that burns bright and deep inside her. But don’t you dare cross her the wrong way because she’s a volcano waiting to erupt and no being has the power to escape the embers of her fire. Water She flows soundless but dedicated towards her purpose. She accommodates everything and everyone and always gives, gives, and gives. The tears that flow from her eyes tell the stories of scars left not on her skin but much deeper on the riverbed of her soul. Wind She flies with the reckless abandon of a howling breeze like a red autumn leaf having no sense of destination. She is free...

You tell me my laugh sounds cute, but no one has ever said that before. Did I tell you that when you laugh on the other side of the phone I imagine a strand of your hair, your disheveled hair and I can almost see it falling over your eyes and I fall even harder every time. Forgive me I was too busy listening to the sound that your fingertips made, running around the edge of the bed-sheet. So I could not listen what you were telling me about EDM. I swear even the time zones would collapse down on their knees, if they could hear the way you sound when you say, 'please'. And I know even all these miles that separate us shy away whenever you blow me kisses. The moon knows all about us it saw me crying over us every night, last year. And yesterday when we hung up after you told me how much you loved me and how much you always will I swear I saw it wink at me and I couldn't resist blushing.

If lovers came in all shapes and sizes, you would look something like a purple colored unicorn on a rainbow cloud. The kind that comforts the tiny kid Inside your being and makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter, the kind that means ‘all things good’, the kind that tastes like candy floss on a giant wheel, the kind that makes you go weak in the knees. If lovers were like days of the week, you would be Wednesday, pretty spelling and prettier pronunciation, halfway through the week (yay), a gap of two between you and Monday’s blue and you and Saturday, too. If lovers were like flavours, you would be chocolate-almonds with a hint of vanilla and coffee, good for health, good for soul and pretty damn good for work (wink, wink). If lovers were like flowers, You would be a bouquet of shiuli's and lilies, no ‘is it giving out mixed signals’ like lotuses, no ‘what if they’re allergic’ like sunflowers, no ‘it’s too overrated’ like ...