you kiss my neck like you own me and then i see the sun glint off the curls in your hair making a halo and a lie before the darkness comes seeping over the lonely blue expanse of the sky
I take a breath I miss the smell your perfume left in my clothes I open my eyes yours looked so sad yesterday. I wish I could ask you why I put on a shirt I miss the way you used to rub the hem of my sleeve with your fingers I brush my hair I love your new color I take a step do you still remember our long walks in the woods? I go on *and so does life
the only occasional fault with reading is that you become so tainted with the characters' experiences that they might as well had happened to you and by god when you read a person's definition of too many it really can become too much