When you discard me, be sure to close the lid on the bin. Walk away. Don’t look back to reach in... I’ve already moved on. This side of the road, I’ve been discarded here before... I know my way home by heart. They call it muscle memory. And my heart always remembers. She never forgets.
Lean in, kiss me. Can you taste the excitement on my lips? Cause I’ve been waiting all week to taste you. The moment you get close, I feel it. A current of anticipation flows through me. Electricity.
Tonight, in my bedroom, it’s very quiet. I lay in my bed alone listening to the still of the night. The lights are off, but the moon shines in through the shutters then onto my bed and the ceiling above.
I was so happy to see your smiling face... and then you waved. Before saying a word, you told me we would be ok. Next to you, the air left my body and the edges of my mouth settled upward in a smile.
There are moments when the world closes in on me quickly. Moments when I have forgotten how full-tilt crazy things can get in just a blink.
Had I known it was gonna end that night... I would have held you closer, looked directly into your beautiful blue eyes and memorized their hue.
I close my eyes and you are there, your scent, your touch, your song. My body, remembering the trace of your hands lightly over my curves, responds in sensational tingles and deep breaths. Deeply, I breathe in, remembering your smile and your eyes, while mine are closed tightly. I never wanted to look away. I never wanted to leave. But like this, I’ll always have you.
Writing is therapy. Get the words and thoughts out of your head and onto the screen or paper. Breathe.
I'm drawn to sadness and the macabre.Show me your dark and gloomy so I can absorb it and feed you with light and love.
I fall in love with him again and again in small moments that seem not to matter to anyone.