(no subject)
when all our options have been crumpled up into a ball and tossed carelessly toward the wastebasket, we'll sit on our floor pondering the color of the walls, there are only four. our cherished memories, rather, are folded neatly and carefully placed in the old cigar box in the corner of my night table. every so often, when everyone is asleep, i put on our favorite CD, read the notes and weep quietly. and you'll never know, because when i emerge ten minutes later, i'm perfect.
you're dead to me. the limp, soggy corpse of a kitten laying lifeless next to an unsuspecting mail box. through all the voice changes we've been through, you wandered off through the clouds. i am currently unaware of your location. and i am currently unaware of your appearance.
for all i know you could be one of those people sitting alone in the corner of a starbucks, a cigarette poised between yellow teeth, with fingers to match. carelessly scribbling notes on a twenty-five cent legal pad. and i will walk right past you without a second glance, without a pang in my chest, without a tear in my eye. because you've been dead for years now, i've laid a rose on that coffin, i gazed at your painted placid face and i wept.
well it's love.. make it hurt