(no subject)
They really don't
know us and it's
sad.
They don't know I like
you.
They don't know I
like girls.
They don't know because it's so
much less complicated this
way and I
hate complications.
They don't know I'm in your
house.
In your
room.
Instead of my cousin's house, in
his room.
That don't know that
I'm sitting on your bedroom
floor.
Or that we're staring at
each other.
Or that I can hear
the TV in the other room.
Or that we are giggling now
just because it's so funny.
They don't know that we're sneaking out because we
feel suffocated and nervous
in there.
We go outside where at least the
air I know and somerthing is
familiar.
And I relax.
We seem to be
world's away
but the swings are still
the same.
And we swing on them gently until I'm not
on mine
or you
aren't on yours and we're
swinging together.
They don't know that we took
over the slide and that
we laid there for hours
and only talked for about ten
minutes.
They don't know we're just a couple of crazy adolescences at
a park after hours
loitering in each
other's arms because
this is what we believe is
love, and we're willing to tell anyone
else to fuck
off.
They don't know that I
come back to the hotel
late.
And that my grandma asks if
I had a good
time.
And that I can't answer because I'm just so
damn happy.