His hot and bothered body of sweat felt refreshing against my flesh, like the water beads on a frosty Mason jar of lemonade the summer of my first blush with self-rule and release, even though it was February.
The spiking temps spiked a fever for cool commons, so I made a plate of tapenade, bruschetta, and prosciutto, with orange creamsicle martinis flowing like a Zen fountain. It was hard for me to believe that I woke up that morning fighting back tears for no reason and all kinds of reasons. It is still... hard for me to believe that you have become no reason, at all.
Tornadoes devastate and leave a mess behind, just like your ending, so the instant that 'Psychlone' sees you rebuilding, she's going to spin completely out of control, every time. You can't get sucked into the same vortex twice if you eject the monster from being it's own victim; but until then, I'd pull in your rocking chairs, lock down your trash cans and recycling bins, and take your potted azaleas inside... ... if I were you.
I save a piece of paper that has the indentation of your name on itβ your signature... ...move. I knew that I shouldn't have let you push down so hard. Your memory left a mark on so many pages after, if you couldn't tell, as I publish again to press on....
I've lost touch with myself. It seems like she and I have not touched base for ages, I can't remember the last time I talked to her, honest to God. She's always been my best friendβmy vicarious better half. It's such a shame, really... I wish I knew what she was up to these days. I really, REALLY do. It's not as though you can close a bond like ours when the room gets too messy; you can't just shut the door. It's common knowledge they'll only open a window ...and sneak out. I don't know where she is now. She could be on a train to the other coast, for all I know. I quit listening to her wishes a long time ago. Shame on me.
Every time you lie to me, I still know your truth. Every time you tell me you're not allowed to love me anymore, I can still hear the gospel behind your tongue. And, that is not my silent desperation; that is your desperate silence.
People promise each other the world until they are not given it. We give until we no longer receive something of equal or greater value. Life and love is nothing more than re-gifting. When we don't like what we get, we save it for someone else, and hope, with all of our hearts, the the next package is better.
I remember when all of my dreams were in rainbow. Now, everything I do I have to Technicolor because it's all become so black and white... so subtle hues, no longer Prismacolor me and you. I sharpen those pencils, but they still come up dull. I shade and shade and shade, but it all comes up a shady review. I miss the rainbow when my dreams were caught all throughout the day; and not just late at night, when I couldn't sleep because everything was dark, and too steep to climb, and only in rhyme because I have not become THAT gray poet.
We all know that nothing can grow if we don't water it. So, sometimes together, we are going to have to drink up. Throw away all abandon and run through the sprinklers. and purposely forget our umbrella in the car.
We don't have a choice of whom we fall in love with. We don't have a choice of whom we fall out of love with. We only have a choice to stay or leaveβ it's a set menu at a fixed price. But, what if we don't like either of our options?
I forgot my key. The question is: who do I call now? Landlords and locksmiths have become more loyal than you when you're the only other person that I gave a copy to in these places that I can only seem to rent.