(Written back in June [9th], but relevant to last night.)
The CD skips. The folk singer stutters and stumbles over her words in a way that is to ironically placed to be mere coincidence. It sounds like she's choking on her own emotions, consumed with despair.
I close my eyes and say a short, silent prayer for us both.
Upon opening, my eyes stick to the wilting pink roses on my nightstand. Withering. Falling apart.
The warmth of my own palm caresses the side of my face, brushing overgrown bangs back. As I sigh, hard and deep, I cradle and scratch my own head, hoping for better days.
Stretching my bare legs beneath white cotton sheets, I realize that any plans for tomorrow were feeble. The dial on the clock rolls past 2:30 a.m.
As my bare arms pull my knees up to meet a bare chest, I know I have to give in. So I close my eyes tightly, shed a single tear which rolls softly over a sea of freckles, and I hope to dream.
I close my eyes and say a short, silent prayer for us both.
Upon opening, my eyes stick to the wilting pink roses on my nightstand. Withering. Falling apart.
The warmth of my own palm caresses the side of my face, brushing overgrown bangs back. As I sigh, hard and deep, I cradle and scratch my own head, hoping for better days.
Stretching my bare legs beneath white cotton sheets, I realize that any plans for tomorrow were feeble. The dial on the clock rolls past 2:30 a.m.
As my bare arms pull my knees up to meet a bare chest, I know I have to give in. So I close my eyes tightly, shed a single tear which rolls softly over a sea of freckles, and I hope to dream.