I would like to think that we are the bridge from winter to spring.
I am 12:57pm, and you are the breeze kissing color into my cheeks. I love you the way the a flower blooms through all the white coldness surrounding it, the sun encouraging it's every small stretch.
I love you in the same sense as the new rains washing away the dirtiness of my hair and the muck in the streets: we are two parts of one whole, and yet you are still so foreign.
I know you love me by the way you kiss me in morse code. You leave your fingerprints on my hips: an invisible promise that I am yours.
Your name is tattooed on the tip of my tongue.
I wish us well.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
I would like to think that we are the bridge from winter to spring.
I am 12:57pm, and you are the breeze kissing color into my cheeks. I love you the way the a flower blooms through all the white coldness surrounding it, the sun encouraging it's every small stretch.
I love you in the same sense as the new rains washing away the dirtiness of my hair and the muck in the streets: we are two parts of one whole, and yet you are still so foreign.
I know you love me by the way you kiss me in morse code. You leave your fingerprints on my hips: an invisible promise that I am yours.
Your name is tattooed on the tip of my tongue.
I wish us well.
Dear Elizabeth,
It's over.
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