You and I have something different..
The days.
The hours.
The seconds.
They keep on counting.
And it feels like such a short time, but if I say it out loud, suddenly it seems like such a long time and that I am suddenly so old. But I am not old, and it is neither a short or a long time. It is just there; a sudden period of time, a flash of something wild and brilliant in my life. Sometimes, while I lay awake at night, I try to remember life before this time. A life that seems to span most of my life, 18 years in-fact. I wonder why I can't remember that time before. I must have done exciting things, I must have met amazing people. I must have. Yet I can't seem to remember, it is just a period of time that is there. Is simply there without any significant meaning. A period of time that is perhaps a long time, yet this period seems to span longer than those 18 years.
I don't know what we are; we're not sweethearts, we're more than lovers, we're something else that I can't describe. I don't know if what we are is good or bad, but it is somehow right. Somehow things that are not meant to work are just right.
It's something like damp earth on my hands, soft grass, running frantically across gravel and climbing a huge oak tree barefoot. That's what our love is.
The hours.
The seconds.
They keep on counting.
And it feels like such a short time, but if I say it out loud, suddenly it seems like such a long time and that I am suddenly so old. But I am not old, and it is neither a short or a long time. It is just there; a sudden period of time, a flash of something wild and brilliant in my life. Sometimes, while I lay awake at night, I try to remember life before this time. A life that seems to span most of my life, 18 years in-fact. I wonder why I can't remember that time before. I must have done exciting things, I must have met amazing people. I must have. Yet I can't seem to remember, it is just a period of time that is there. Is simply there without any significant meaning. A period of time that is perhaps a long time, yet this period seems to span longer than those 18 years.
I don't know what we are; we're not sweethearts, we're more than lovers, we're something else that I can't describe. I don't know if what we are is good or bad, but it is somehow right. Somehow things that are not meant to work are just right.
It's something like damp earth on my hands, soft grass, running frantically across gravel and climbing a huge oak tree barefoot. That's what our love is.