| Well, get un-used to it. Because I'm starting to get a little fond of you. And your contented loneliness will only get in the way.
And if you wanted to kiss me, I certainly wouldn't object.
|
| |
| than speaking to an empty room.
|
| |
| But I didn't. Instead, I spent the entire night with you. We'd never met before but at 3am, I came over to your house. You were exactly as I'd imagined you. Your shaggy brown hair accented the icy gray of your eyes, and the blue shirt you wore complimented your muscular arms. You were shy, obviously so, but I didn't mind. I loved laying in your bed with you and talking and I'm glad that we have yet to kiss. But I do hope that soon, our lips will meet and it will be just as wonderful as the first time I saw you.
|
| |
| But right now my eyelids feel like they weigh a million pounds and my head is throbbing like you wouldn't believe. I suppose I should lay down, I hope tomorrow is as wonderful as I'm anticipating.
I hope I'm not counting on you to be the one that saves me.
|
| |
| The days bleed into nights, they string together endlessly. Each day grows increasingly more blurry, like the filmstrip of a movie that's been smudged by curious fingers. Sometimes it's peaceful, the nights have become so quiet and solitary. Other times, the silence is deafening. I often think that if someone would just put their arms around me and hold me, it would be more bearable. The movie would stop and change; from an infinite film to individual photographs. Though I'd love to watch the movie, I also love the permanent-ness of a photo. I have yet to decide between the two.
All I know is: I'm not posing for any photos.
|
| |
