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Literature Text
I like to dream.
I dream that it was night outside your windows and your pale hands were pulling me inside your covers. I dream that the sheets were pulled over our scalps and we were lying with our foreheads pressed together and smiles plastered across our faces. Our knees were bumping and our hipbones were fitting together and your voice was a whisper as you apologized for the fact that your toes are freezing. My fingers were splayed across the curve of your spine and my lips were barely brushing against yours as they whispered back that you're too far away, if you were closer I could keep you warmer. And your hands were in my hair and butterflies were in our stomachs and as our heartbeats pressed together through skin we were finally not sleeping alone.
I like to pretend.
I pretend that tonight we are standing on top of a mountain and under the sky. I pretend that our hands are clasped together without gloves even though it's freezing, because the best part of all this is feeling skin on skin and forgetting whose is whose. It is snowing and we lost feeling in our toes, but we are standing and watching the constellations because I promised you we would. We are half a mile up and we are beginning to lose our breath as we watch it bellow out of our mouths and into the air. Your cheeks are red and my eyes are blue and we are both still as we close our eyes and make wishes on the stars that seem close enough to take and shove into our pockets. And we are getting cold and catching snowflakes on our eyelashes and when you ask me what I wished for I am silent because your hand is still in mine and my wish already came true.
I like to hope.
I hope that we will be right where we belong and left with no hesitations. I hope it will be a Sunday morning and we will be in the living room listening to the rain hit the roof and soak into the ground. You will sprawl across the floor to paint and I will write in this same silly notebook about how beautiful this is when you are sipping coffee and I am still spilling over my brims with words about you. I will draw your name lazily across the margins and you will tell me all the colors you are using as you dip your brush into them, because you know I remember everything you tell me even if I can't discern the patterns. And suddenly the feel of the air between us will shift and you will look up from the canvas to find me studying you, and as you ask me if you have paint on your cheek everything will suddenly be clear to me and a triplet of words will fall from my lips. We will watch each other with disbelief and trepidation and wait for the other to make the first move, and outside the rain will still be falling and we will just be starting.
I like to dream, pretend, hope, wish this all comes true.
I dream that it was night outside your windows and your pale hands were pulling me inside your covers. I dream that the sheets were pulled over our scalps and we were lying with our foreheads pressed together and smiles plastered across our faces. Our knees were bumping and our hipbones were fitting together and your voice was a whisper as you apologized for the fact that your toes are freezing. My fingers were splayed across the curve of your spine and my lips were barely brushing against yours as they whispered back that you're too far away, if you were closer I could keep you warmer. And your hands were in my hair and butterflies were in our stomachs and as our heartbeats pressed together through skin we were finally not sleeping alone.
I like to pretend.
I pretend that tonight we are standing on top of a mountain and under the sky. I pretend that our hands are clasped together without gloves even though it's freezing, because the best part of all this is feeling skin on skin and forgetting whose is whose. It is snowing and we lost feeling in our toes, but we are standing and watching the constellations because I promised you we would. We are half a mile up and we are beginning to lose our breath as we watch it bellow out of our mouths and into the air. Your cheeks are red and my eyes are blue and we are both still as we close our eyes and make wishes on the stars that seem close enough to take and shove into our pockets. And we are getting cold and catching snowflakes on our eyelashes and when you ask me what I wished for I am silent because your hand is still in mine and my wish already came true.
I like to hope.
I hope that we will be right where we belong and left with no hesitations. I hope it will be a Sunday morning and we will be in the living room listening to the rain hit the roof and soak into the ground. You will sprawl across the floor to paint and I will write in this same silly notebook about how beautiful this is when you are sipping coffee and I am still spilling over my brims with words about you. I will draw your name lazily across the margins and you will tell me all the colors you are using as you dip your brush into them, because you know I remember everything you tell me even if I can't discern the patterns. And suddenly the feel of the air between us will shift and you will look up from the canvas to find me studying you, and as you ask me if you have paint on your cheek everything will suddenly be clear to me and a triplet of words will fall from my lips. We will watch each other with disbelief and trepidation and wait for the other to make the first move, and outside the rain will still be falling and we will just be starting.
I like to dream, pretend, hope, wish this all comes true.
Literature
perfection, LOVE, imperfection
Describe yourself in one word:
i'mperfect
"no, no, love.
you're putting apostrophes
where they don't belong."
"no, no, no.
one, i'm not your love.
two, i'm not a grammar freak.
three, i don't be long anyway.
i don't be long anywhere
i don't be long (to) anybody.
it won't b
Literature
breathing.
tonight you are alone, silence keeping your heart company. you try to breathe but there's no air, there's no air, there's no
one to love you.
you close your eyes and pretend life is a fairytale and the prince just saved the princess and the dragon's been slayed and everything's okay now, everything's okay. and everyone is smiling and happy music is playing in the background and there's only going to be sunny days. everyone is saying, here's your happy ever after, it's all yours now. everyone is happy -
well, except for you, because right now you're pretending you don't exist.
.
you compare hearts to fingerprints; no two are alike.
excep
Literature
Intoxicated.
This is a day we will try hard to forget,
like the first time we gasped for air from the floor of your empty house,
or the first time I told my mother that I wanted to die.
Time will pass and we will misplace memories,
but we will remember the days we sat lost in your woods
watching the years scatter like ashes across fallen leaves.
I will not forget the scent of stale cigarettes,
the taste of wind in my hair and headlights through the trees,
or how the final whimper of the dying trees
matched the color of your eyes
when we set fire to our lungs and died along the roadside.
When I close my eyes, I will see the golden glow
Suggested Collections
with enough stars in the sky and 11:11s, maybe it will.
scraps? maybe. i don't know. we'll see.
scraps? maybe. i don't know. we'll see.
© 2009 - 2024 SocraticSynapses
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I love this. 