is it okay if I spend the day reminiscing about you?
yearning for you?
you've left a sickly gossamer on my senses and I
find it so mystical
but you created a cold vacancy in my dreams, my love
I feel it each time I'm on my own
patiently waiting for you to make it clear to me
if you adore me! despise me!
hold me in your barbaric arms, you fool
what are we waiting for
living in a life without love?
you are not mine I know
you are not an inanimate object
never going to be my 'property'
I simply want to merge souls with you.
it's not lust.
I found the feeling in my chest
to be less constricting,
less about carnal desires.
it's a craving to be cared for by you and only you
I'm not one to praise having a muse for they only ever suck the life out of you and the creation of my art is mine and mine only I need not schedule it around you -
but here I go again, finding solace in the pages of the newly filled pages of my scarlet moleskine gushing about you and how you're unknowingly breaking my heart
I don't hate you I don't hate you I don't hate you
how could you think so?
I replay the images of us sitting out in the hallway working on that test on the scarlet letter, I asked you if you had really read it and you replied with
'does it look like I'd read a book from the 19th century?' with a goofy smile
I don't know how we went from talking about the trials and tribulations of Hester Prynne to your tattered blue vans to human nature but I swear we were in our own little universe for those ten minutes or so,
but at the time the notion of time being real was ludicrous, absolute nonsense!
it was an eternity spent with you.
(the people who say time isn't real are always either painfully depressed or hell-bent on feeling each moment with excruciating clarity)
((I'm both))
even as I write this the adrenaline is coming back,
the mania I felt because of your damn entrancing smile has returned
and I am unraveling in tender ecstasy!
