late night writings...
3:03 am:
It’s cold out, you said
as you zipped up my coat
and looped your arm through mine
as we walked down the street.
When all our lives are strange and beautiful
And, idealist, I know,
Meant to be,
The warmth of your touch
Makes me feel like a child again.
I don’t know how long
I can do this, you said,
And we sat in silence in the hall
With my knees pressed to my chest
So tight in case I let
‘I love you’
Slip past my teeth
Before it did through yours.
I don’t really know
What love is, you said,
But I know I found it with you.
And the utter cliché
Of indescribable happiness
Means nothing
When it doesn’t hold a candle
To you.
It’s cold out, you said
as you zipped up my coat
and looped your arm through mine
as we walked down the street.
When all our lives are strange and beautiful
And, idealist, I know,
Meant to be,
The warmth of your touch
Makes me feel like a child again.
I don’t know how long
I can do this, you said,
And we sat in silence in the hall
With my knees pressed to my chest
So tight in case I let
‘I love you’
Slip past my teeth
Before it did through yours.
I don’t really know
What love is, you said,
But I know I found it with you.
And the utter cliché
Of indescribable happiness
Means nothing
When it doesn’t hold a candle
To you.