music poetry WRITING

E n k i n d l e d

“Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us but we can't strike them all by ourselves” ― Laura Esquivel

If they could erase all the words and start over, they would.

He would ask her not to let his hand go.

She would ask to be kissed, held, or looked at with admiration.

You know, that look that’s glazed with a glitter shinier than lust, and more permanent than a hundred sharpie hearts doodled in a notebook in remembrance of a crush?

He would dig deeper than ever for his honesty to tell her he might be much less than the man she imagined him to be, but that there was something about her that inspired him to be more.

She would look at him with a smile, not knowing how to tell him she felt exactly the same way, and instead lean in for a kiss not asked for aloud.

They would part, too scared to say all those things, and for many unspoken reasons, too overwhelmed to admit they’d never be the same.

When a woman does not know her name and someone calls her a princess, she might begin to believe she is royalty. When such an opportunity arises, call her instead by her name, and with your eyes, reveal how her heart kindles yours, that in recognition, titles disappear.

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