(no subject)
"Traffic is killing me; I'm going to be late."
I've been pacing in my hotel room for good two hours. Dress, undress. I'm staying in the Mondrian, and everything's white; the furniture, the sheets, the curtains. It's some soft, sterilized version of heaven. I'm in West Hollywood, and the sun's about to set on Sunset.
He's going to be late, but he's coming. Not like all the other times. I flew into New York for a concert. He was in the city, but couldn't see me. I flew in to Shannon from Germany, and spent a week waiting. There was no word from him for months. It's the waiting game; see how patient I can be.
Months pass with no word, and still. Faith.
***************
It's the last night; we went out to dinner, and then to a darker place where girls have even darker eyes. Big black boots and looks meant to kill, if it weren't for the obstruction of all the eyeliner. Boys with plucked eyebrows that hover in your peripheral and wait for you to give them the time of night.
They are all bright, interesting, and entire waste of time, unless you're collecting personalities for a knock-off Underworld comic strip.
My heart is defiant, my smile wicked, with broken canines that scrape over bleeding lips if I'm not careful with my emotion.
I mean to keep him.
**************
I've been pacing in my hotel room for good two hours. Dress, undress. I'm staying in the Mondrian, and everything's white; the furniture, the sheets, the curtains. It's some soft, sterilized version of heaven. I'm in West Hollywood, and the sun's about to set on Sunset.
He's going to be late, but he's coming. Not like all the other times. I flew into New York for a concert. He was in the city, but couldn't see me. I flew in to Shannon from Germany, and spent a week waiting. There was no word from him for months. It's the waiting game; see how patient I can be.
Months pass with no word, and still. Faith.
***************
It's the last night; we went out to dinner, and then to a darker place where girls have even darker eyes. Big black boots and looks meant to kill, if it weren't for the obstruction of all the eyeliner. Boys with plucked eyebrows that hover in your peripheral and wait for you to give them the time of night.
They are all bright, interesting, and entire waste of time, unless you're collecting personalities for a knock-off Underworld comic strip.
My heart is defiant, my smile wicked, with broken canines that scrape over bleeding lips if I'm not careful with my emotion.
I mean to keep him.
**************