Your brown eyes are my blue skies.

20. Twenty. 2...0. 

My teen years are gone. Done. Deceased. Discarded. With them are my naive views and selfish disposition. Gone with them are my simplistic opinions on profound affairs. Banished are my childish perspectives on sex and love. Lust. 

One bold, passionate encounter with love was enough to end my yearning for such a thing. Enough to understand that it is not always as beautiful as it may appear in your mind, in your imagination, in your dreams. Well it may be, until it isn't any longer. One bold, passionate encounter with love was enough. 

The longer I lay, thoughts seeping, the deeper my realisation. It is not in fact anguish from a failed love that lacerates my being. Constantly.  Nor is it the pain of no longer having such a beautiful presence in my life that once coexisted, happily with mine. It is indeed fear. Fear that I will never again experience such an adoration, such a whole hearted and pure love for someone. And for it to be returned. 

For once, I was an open book. Susceptible to companionship, susceptible to pain. Yet now, it is as if I have stiffened. I would not go as far to say heartless, yet something that resembles a similar shape. Something synonymous. Something reflective. 

Exterior; hard as flint. Interior;... 

In a conscious endeavour to interrupt this sense of unrest; To avoid the sadness that once washed over me, I found peace of mind. Peace in knowing that the Earth is round and that the tulips blossom in Spring, my most cherished time of year. Peace in the instant coffee sitting in a stained jar above the sink. Peace in progression. Peace from within.