Sometimes she whispers,
A soft spoken word that soothes the skin,
A melody that cools third-degree burns,
A tear that drowns a sea of sorrow.
Her melodrama is contagious, infectious, and mesmerizing.
She sits at the red diner, twiddling her thumbs,
And you notice her downtrodden eyes.
You grab a sharpie and write on her hand,
"Loneliness is not a function of solitude,
And you'll never have to be alone."
She smiles as she interlocks her arm with yours.
And the result is pure ecstasy.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
Sometimes she whispers,
A soft spoken word that soothes the skin,
A melody that cools third-degree burns,
A tear that drowns a sea of sorrow.
Her melodrama is contagious, infectious, and mesmerizing.
She sits at the red diner, twiddling her thumbs,
And you notice her downtrodden eyes.
You grab a sharpie and write on her hand,
"Loneliness is not a function of solitude,
And you'll never have to be alone."
She smiles as she interlocks her arm with yours.
And the result is pure ecstasy.
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