Authors: Lang Leav
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I love you, I do
you have my word.
You have all
“A mind possessed by unmade books.”
This line, taken from the poem
by Michael Faudet, illustrates my lifelong preoccupation with books. All artists have a motive, a passion that wills them to create the things they do. For me, it has always been about books. It always will be.
It was from a very young age that I fell in love with this wonderful artifact
the turn of the first page is almost like a sacred ritual to me. Whenever I walk into a library, it is never without some degree of reverence.
Over time, my love of books spilled beyond the joy of reading and I began to dream of books filled with my own words and pictures.
This dream turned to reality with the publication of my first book,
Love & Misadventure
, and continues now with the follow-up,
, the very book you are holding in your hands.
I have always thought poems were a little like spells
incantations that are as old as time. There is a certain quality to words that
when strung in a certain way
has an almost hypnotic effect. This combined with the universal theme of love, becomes ever more potent and intoxicating. After all, what greater magic is there than love?
I hope you enjoy reading
as much as I enjoyed putting it together. I imagine it to be a bedside table kind of book
hopefully, one that you will pick up on some windy, restless night and it will help sing you to sleep.
Though it has a start, middle, and end, you can begin reading
from any page you wish. Some pieces will sing to your present, others may echo of your past, and the rest could whisper of your future. Remember, while the words on these pages remain static, this book
like all other books
is a living and breathing thing. Much like a mirror reflecting its ever-changing landscape,
is a book that, over time, will reveal itself to you slowly.
A midnight scribble,
a morning sigh;
you watch the words
curl up and die.
inside your head,
of poems lost
and pages dead.
A mind possessed
by unmade books,
on empty hooks.
In books unread,
we lie between
As they turn us to lovers
like season’s changes.
Love a girl who writes
and live her many lives;
you have yet to find her,
beneath her words of guise.
Kiss her blue-inked fingers,
forgive the pens they marked.
The stain of your lips upon her
the one she can’t discard.
Forget her tattered memories,
or the pages others took;
you are her ever after
the hero of her book.
Perhaps I never loved enough,
If only I’d loved much more;
I would not nearly had so much,
left waiting, for you in store.
If I had given away my heart
to those who came before;
it would be safer left in parts
but now you have it all.
I am somebody else’s story. The girl who served their drink, the person they pushed past on a crowded street, the one who broke their heart. I have happened in so many places, to so many people
the essence of me lives on in these nuances, these moments.
Yet never have I been bolder or brighter than I am with you. Not once have I ever felt so alive. Whatever vessel we pour ourselves into, mine is now overflowing, brimming with life. It is transcending into something new.
Hands are no longer hands. They are caresses. Mouths are no longer mouths. They are kisses. My name is no longer a name, it is a call. And love is no longer love
love is you.
When every dream
has turned to dust,
and your highest hopes
no longer soar.
When places you
once yearned to see,
grow further away
on distant shores.
When every night
you close your eyes,
and long inside
for something more.
and only this,
if nothing else
you can recall
There was a life
a girl once led,
where you were loved
the most of all.
Be careful about giving your heart too quickly,
I was told.
Boys only have one thing on their minds,
I don’t know if he truly loves me
how can I be sure? I can’t say with any conviction that he won’t break my heart
but how could I have stopped him from taking what was already his?
He swept in like a tsunami, wave after wave, and I didn’t stand a chance. All those warnings, all the things they tried to prepare me for
lost in an instant
to the enormity of what I felt.
Thoughts of You