(no subject)
http://www.sevenphonecalls.org
i would like to lie with you in my bed,
talk to you under a blanket.
listen to you breathe in the dark.
we could open the windows if it is windy.
hear the rain and touch our fingers.
it would be very simple.
people would call me crazy if i told them moments like that are all i expect of my life.
he decided from now on he will wake up earlier than usual to make breakfast.
he will bring it to bed. there will be tea, some french toast, and a 'good morning' note from her teddy bear. he will hold her hands to make sure she understands that even in the ghostly state she keeps in, he sees a solid beauty in her that noone else will ever fully comprehend.
and then there are these five minutes of stillness that she loves so much about afternoons, when she lies on her bed upside down and the wind touches her cheekbones, and her mouth rests slightly open from the pleasant shock of how she is still able to come back to this little harbor of comfort somewhere in her unstable mind, though even then, even as her eyes are closed, here, during this piano solo of quietude, she is too aware of endings, of loss, of how time will allow you only so much of Good Things before you have filled your quota, before it puts you back in the spotlight and points fingers at you.
the sun sets quickly and there is not much to do about anything, it is never the time for things to be right, for her to believe that starting over is a possibility. ten years ago she was asking for penpals, now she gets up from where she has been hiding and reaches for the booze.
dear _____ ,
i went to the bathroom and tried to remember your face but i can only recollect a half faded vision of the look you gave me that day at the bookstore. every lunch break i feel your tongue you forced down my throat, writing this i am almost embarassed for breathing my alcohol scented air into your lungs, i can make out your mouth around my lips, but i keep forgetting what you look like, and it's driving me crazy.
i could just order a heartbreak to go. then i wouldn't have to go through the formality that is a relationship.
there is a scar right above my knee and an almost invisible bruise on my elbow i want to sit you down and tell you the stories behind them i wonder if perhaps you have stories of your own that you'd like to share some time over coffee i hate love letters but find myself constantly writing too many, each of them openly addressed to you i want to be on your christmas wish list as well as for you to know you're the only thing on mine i want you either gift wrapped under my tree or outside my door soaked completely in rain maybe half naked in my bed so i can stand up on my desk and watch you from a godlike point of view and notes on my fridge about how much i've been missed during school
i would like to lie with you in my bed,
talk to you under a blanket.
listen to you breathe in the dark.
we could open the windows if it is windy.
hear the rain and touch our fingers.
it would be very simple.
people would call me crazy if i told them moments like that are all i expect of my life.
he decided from now on he will wake up earlier than usual to make breakfast.
he will bring it to bed. there will be tea, some french toast, and a 'good morning' note from her teddy bear. he will hold her hands to make sure she understands that even in the ghostly state she keeps in, he sees a solid beauty in her that noone else will ever fully comprehend.
and then there are these five minutes of stillness that she loves so much about afternoons, when she lies on her bed upside down and the wind touches her cheekbones, and her mouth rests slightly open from the pleasant shock of how she is still able to come back to this little harbor of comfort somewhere in her unstable mind, though even then, even as her eyes are closed, here, during this piano solo of quietude, she is too aware of endings, of loss, of how time will allow you only so much of Good Things before you have filled your quota, before it puts you back in the spotlight and points fingers at you.
the sun sets quickly and there is not much to do about anything, it is never the time for things to be right, for her to believe that starting over is a possibility. ten years ago she was asking for penpals, now she gets up from where she has been hiding and reaches for the booze.
dear _____ ,
i went to the bathroom and tried to remember your face but i can only recollect a half faded vision of the look you gave me that day at the bookstore. every lunch break i feel your tongue you forced down my throat, writing this i am almost embarassed for breathing my alcohol scented air into your lungs, i can make out your mouth around my lips, but i keep forgetting what you look like, and it's driving me crazy.
i could just order a heartbreak to go. then i wouldn't have to go through the formality that is a relationship.
there is a scar right above my knee and an almost invisible bruise on my elbow i want to sit you down and tell you the stories behind them i wonder if perhaps you have stories of your own that you'd like to share some time over coffee i hate love letters but find myself constantly writing too many, each of them openly addressed to you i want to be on your christmas wish list as well as for you to know you're the only thing on mine i want you either gift wrapped under my tree or outside my door soaked completely in rain maybe half naked in my bed so i can stand up on my desk and watch you from a godlike point of view and notes on my fridge about how much i've been missed during school