(no subject)

Dec 29, 2003 14:12

I've heard that he thought he was in love. They passed him on the street, arm in arm with a black-eyed girl whose pearls sparkled in the snow. He clutched her fingers and directed them not to ask her name.

I recieved a telephone call late into the evening. A hushed voice asking me to come to his home, to his bed. "I just want to be next to you and lay with you. I want to wake up to your smiling face." I arrived with photographs of pulverized hearts and taped them to his ceiling.

Twenty years and all I'm leaving with is a name and a lie.

('seagapoduvistka' You had all of the answers but I never asked the right questions.)
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