I don’t like the noise

My brain is full of noises sometimes,

My thoughts overlap 

Like folding a piece of paper 

Over a piece of paper 

Over a piece of paper

Over a piece

Over.

And like waves crashing against shores 

Or water falling from the sky

I’m covered in emotion

I’m covered in

I’m covered.

And my brain melts like butter 

Becoming waves of thoughts that fold over each other and slowly drift apart like two boats inching towards a shoreline that doesn’t exist.

Stuck in an ocean with no wind,

And how can there be a calm if the storm is always raging? 

Always raging, it’s,

Always. 

Sometimes it’s difficult to talk to people,

About stuff and things and people and;

difficult talking. 

It gets a lot. 

Segmented rushes of endorphins fly around at the speed of light, or the speed of water I suppose; I don’t know.

I don’t know 

I don’t. 

Like it here, sometimes it’s peaceful, 

Like when I look at you;

I wasn’t really sure butter was your colour but it’s kinda melted like that,

Like waves and rain and noise and noise and waves of noise and rain. 

Like it’s genuinely hard to describe an emotion in words that everyone knows. Because every emotion is subjective to each person and each person has a unique perception of something they aren’t even sure is what it’s called or told or means it is. 

You know? 

So what I mean is; I’m not too sure what I mean. I’m not too sure what much means to be honest sometimes I just know how it makes me feel. 

Like; I like dogs, and music, and the curl of the edge of your mouth when you smile after I say something stupid. 

Or games of chance that aren’t really chance that make you feel stupid. 

That’s all it is really isn’t it?

Chance. 

It’s all a chance; life. A chance to be something, a chance to meet someone, a chance to accomplish — things. 

I mean I’m not a gambling person but I’d take a chance on you. 

A face like it’s been carved into a mountain.

Not in the sense of, looking like a rock. 

But in the sense of that millennia have past and architects throughout ages have been crafting:

bit by bit, 

painters painting picture after picture and sculptures carving into infinity

 in just the slight hope they would have created something even half of beautiful as your face. 

Every line carved perfectly, every brush stroke with meticulous detail. 

I saved your picture;

Just in case,

A surprise gift.

Hoping one day I’ll be able to put it in my wallet and not feel weird for it.

I’ll probably keep this here somewhere;

saved so you can read it one day, 

you know,

Just in case. 

But then I stop thinking like that, 

And it gets noisy again. 

I don’t like the noise.