I wrote the first page of my book today,
wish I could tell you,
I’m all alone in a state of shock
With my instincts tested,
I’ve rested in thought of you,
In thought of you and thoughts of me that come to you when comfortable ,
I cringe my chest with deprivation.
Typing a novel so painful, with no concrete evidence of how it ever could have been.
…. Describing you has become a task, an impossible one.
As harmless as our relationship as friends seem my mind thinks otherwise. Sharing qualities of being dangerously honest, gifted and driven like Porsches , our paths are parallel .
With each turn of the wheel, I am right beside you.
A woman can really make you write love letters.
As your face cuddles in the corner of my heart and the surface of my skull, the next move is beyond me.
Your happiness, became my weakness, which brings me to the heart of this passage.
I wrote this quote today, I think it describes me. It reads:
“I’m not quite sure whether it’s the temptation that fascinates me, or the pressure that motivates me”
After reading what I’ve written, I became saddened by memories of you.
These women have no goals
These women see the finish line before a quarter of their lives are spent.
I was driven to be better in order to keep you around and allow me to live off the energy that you gave me the key to unlock, as cliche as it sounds.
Your a species,
We could create a gender
And raise a race
Only to run the streets and rule the world.
I’ve compared you to the queen of England in some of my college writing this semester, also many times referring to you as the main character in a story I wrote called “Only In Slumber” where you were only my imagination that would comfort me in dreams, and vanish when I arise.
Stings every time…..
When writing these words in my dark bedroom at 4 am, I feel connected with you.
I didn’t mean to miss you
But how can you not miss a catch this good when it was once in the palm of your hands?
Is love America’s past time?
The never ending World Series?
I’m stuck in Sublime