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 Mar 2015 Mark The Vagabond
B
Caught
 Mar 2015 Mark The Vagabond
B
You're laying on the beach on a hot summer day. You start sweating so you decide to cool off in the ocean for a second. You go too deep and you're swept off your feet and you find yourself tumbling under the waves. You come up for air but only for a second until the next wave crashes on top of you. Water  is filling your nose, burning as it travels down your throat.You struggle to regain your footing. When the waves finally calm, you surface and you see that you have  traveled farther than you expected. You start to swim back to shore, but unfortunately, another wave is forming. You swim faster hoping to escape your fate, but it's too late. You're already trapped under the forceful waves and you find yourself doing summersault after summersault. You claw your way back up to the surface looking around to see where you are. You're close to shore, so you swim back, letting the current push you. You decide to lay in the sand for a second to catch your breath.
So tell me, is this what it felt like to love them?



B.S.
I used to write for fear of forgetting.
I stopped writing for fear of remembering.
Your arms loosening from around me
as you said final thoughts of us.
Your taillights trailing down the street.
Mirroring the floodgates from my eyes.

Now I have the typewriter you gave me.
An incessant reminder of all the words I never said.
All the words that are too late to make up for time lost.

I wrote to you anyway.

Without the intention of winning you.
Only hoping not to lose you,
the only person who could scare the **** out of me
and make me feel like I was floating
using one stupid look
that made me fall ceaselessly and unnervingly
in love with you.

I wanted you to know
that all of my convictions
that true love and fate
were just lies that are spoon-fed to us
so that we aren't starved by an empty life,
it all wavered when you smiled at me.

I want to tell you
that I used to never have dreams
and now you're in all of them.
Making reality that much harder.

Every letter was returned.
 Mar 2015 Mark The Vagabond
Sarah
Sorry for smelling like cigarette smoke and for starring at you all the time
for laughing too loud and for shaking so much
Sorry For shooting my gaze to the floor when you tell me words that weren't made for people like me.
A silkworm made my purse so fine,
yet a tiny fly has ruined my wine.
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