snsd, hyosica, 6
anonymous
September 27 2011, 15:28:51 UTC
when people ask me what kind of girl you are, i tell them you're the girl who'll watch a leaf fall, grasp my hand, and whisper "it's autumn," as if you're newton and an apple just tumbled on your head.
and then they'd stare at me like i'm a sitcom without a laugh track. well, i was never good with words in the first place.
sometimes when my calves are stiff and my knees get weak, i imagine myself living another life, at the divey-est of dive bars, passed out under the pool table after the fourth shot of tequila, and there's still salt on my tongue. this is the last place on earth i'd find you, and then i realize, this is a world where we'd never meet at all.
remember that boy i would always tell you about? turns out he was less of a man than i thought. funny thing is, every time i'd imagine his lips on mine, his hand in my own, i'd look behind and search for your approving smile, a permanent fixture of my imagination.
on a clear sunday morning, i see you wringing your hands. you were up all night, and i am up at dawn, but my words are about as soothing as a fortune cookie, my words are spent dry like a jar of ink.
and then they'd stare at me like i'm a sitcom without a laugh track. well, i was never good with words in the first place.
sometimes when my calves are stiff and my knees get weak, i imagine myself living another life, at the divey-est of dive bars, passed out under the pool table after the fourth shot of tequila, and there's still salt on my tongue. this is the last place on earth i'd find you, and then i realize, this is a world where we'd never meet at all.
remember that boy i would always tell you about? turns out he was less of a man than i thought. funny thing is, every time i'd imagine his lips on mine, his hand in my own, i'd look behind and search for your approving smile, a permanent fixture of my imagination.
on a clear sunday morning, i see you wringing your hands. you were up all night, and i am up at dawn, but my words are about as soothing as a fortune cookie, my words are spent dry like a jar of ink.
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