(no subject)
I woke up with lint in my mouth today. Blueish green Abercrombie and Fitch, balled up in the floor next to my bed. Sometimes I think it multiplies while we sleep and hides in the crevices between my fingers and your legs. It always reminds me of you and my much needed month. One month, exactly what I needed to get over things and I thank you for this. I realize what I thought could develop isn't even a fraction of what we've shared so far, but why expect(?) for the unexpected, when things are never truely stagnant. The only cessation of life recides deep down inside me when you/I bring up the past, and I've been told not to do that so I won't. I don't need another acid reflux of bad relationships, because I'm bad about getting over things as it is, and I don't fare at getting over this very well either. But I will try harder. I will even buy a lint roller.
Blunts. Baked Ziti. Blueberry Muffins. Blue sheets. B is the new February and early March. Maybe we can try hotboxing under the covers like you said, or maybe we can stop thinking about things like we both said. Maybe I can be over it, maybe you can be over it, and unlike the lint that attaches to us so infrequently, we can attach to another for some small piece of time.
You are good. Good like the flashes of light behind my eyes and the tingling sensation on my face. Good as the lightning outside your doorway and swimming pool of water I drove through to get home and dream about you. Good were the random text messages that don't come so randomly. Why did you have to give up? Sometimes I think I know, but I know that can't be possible either.
Blunts. Baked Ziti. Blueberry Muffins. Blue sheets. B is the new February and early March. Maybe we can try hotboxing under the covers like you said, or maybe we can stop thinking about things like we both said. Maybe I can be over it, maybe you can be over it, and unlike the lint that attaches to us so infrequently, we can attach to another for some small piece of time.
You are good. Good like the flashes of light behind my eyes and the tingling sensation on my face. Good as the lightning outside your doorway and swimming pool of water I drove through to get home and dream about you. Good were the random text messages that don't come so randomly. Why did you have to give up? Sometimes I think I know, but I know that can't be possible either.