There’s the kind of love you hide away. The kind you keep to yourself, sealed in jars, tucked into shoeboxes, buried in the back of drawers and pressed between the pages of books. The kind that doesn’t see the light of day because it can’t, because it mustn’t, because if it did it would be the end of you both, it would be the end of everything, the end of the world. So you keep it to yourself and for yourself, because it has to be that way, because it is just that kind of love, the kind of love that can only exist when it is hidden away.

My fingers itch to write about eyes so endlessly blue that they defy metaphor. To compare them to an expanse of sky is to do them an injustice. To liken them to the sea would be trite and inaccurate. Maybe not everything beautiful is meant to be captured in a poem. Maybe the things that are the hardest to describe are poetry in themselves…♥

Blue Sea, Santorini, Greece