Oct 2017
Dark eyes and even darker hair in windy curls of confusion and sleep deprivation.
Pale hands that shake and a busy mind at work, scribbling words of romance into blank pages.
He wrote of how the curve of her cheeks fit just right in his touch, how her voice sent shivers down his spine, and of how her lips curled ever so slightly when she knew something he didn’t.
He wrote about how she left, hips swaying head down with her arms crossed over her chest, tears streaming over the cheeks he’d give anything to kiss again.
What had he done?
He wrote about the color of her eyes, of her lips, and of her tongue. He wrote of the memories that were beginning to fade, the little bruised that still stained her skin. He had put them there, on her hips, her shoulders, and stomach, marks of love and of hate.
Dark eyes, brimmed with tears, and even darker hair tangled in pale hands that shook so much they knocked over caramel colored coffee, staining his scratched words of lost romance.
Pale hands that shake and a busy mind at work, scribbling words of romance into blank pages.
He wrote of how the curve of her cheeks fit just right in his touch, how her voice sent shivers down his spine, and of how her lips curled ever so slightly when she knew something he didn’t.
He wrote about how she left, hips swaying head down with her arms crossed over her chest, tears streaming over the cheeks he’d give anything to kiss again.
What had he done?
He wrote about the color of her eyes, of her lips, and of her tongue. He wrote of the memories that were beginning to fade, the little bruised that still stained her skin. He had put them there, on her hips, her shoulders, and stomach, marks of love and of hate.
Dark eyes, brimmed with tears, and even darker hair tangled in pale hands that shook so much they knocked over caramel colored coffee, staining his scratched words of lost romance.
