it sounds like planes taking flight, like foreboding, like a hoard of wasps, and then it breaks into melody; it went from storming winds to a spa reception meditation: inhale, exhale
dull these sharp edges, take me out of my head; i can see you laid out on white cotton sheets, your dark hair fanned against the pillows on my bed. no, i don't want to do anything, other than lie with you, feel your warmth and...
i look at you and tears brim these tired eyes. insomnia's an artist painting shadows on my lids, but you reach out and brush your fingertips against my cheek; suddenly i'm alive, your watercolours vibrant on my skin; i'm overflowing with emotion but you make it feel okay to drown, to let it in.
you'll never have any idea of how much i think about you i think, maybe, i would feel guilty if i knew how to but i don't do remorse, just as you don't do... well. this. any of this. try not to, anyway
things don't always work out the way we plan; but it's okay, we can make more plans together, somehow because you promised me you'd live and i swore i'd do the same.