I don't know you, but I want you all the more for that.
I want to write about how there was a secret boy who pressed his lips quietly against my forehead and saved me from myself when I was sixteen. Or writing about how I wish that I could tell you that to this day, I can still read your tone. Or how I am so tired of parallel lives.
I have to write this paper and study for this test, and for the first time I am contemplating the consequences of not taking this test. I feel everything unraveling and how I'm too tired to even pretend to care. I wish I could do things at my own time, my own pace, but I feel like I'm drowning. I'm not unhappy. I'm tired of this place and that feeling of being crushed. If you are ready to leave it alone then just leave it alone. I will let you.
I guess I have more to say but they are scenes in my head. The night I walked away in your pants and it was raining and you drove me to my car, parked in an Applebee's parking lot, and how I lost a piece of our beginning that night. Your hat on my head as I leaned into you, watching Eddie Murphy and playing speed--Lifehouse quietly singing in the background and me telling you to turn it up. The first real date we shared, alone in a park at night, sitting on top of the world--which was really just a large white dome, your hands around my waist and me telling you that you only turn every age once.
Most of my favorite visions are snapshots of the past.
I have to write this paper and study for this test, and for the first time I am contemplating the consequences of not taking this test. I feel everything unraveling and how I'm too tired to even pretend to care. I wish I could do things at my own time, my own pace, but I feel like I'm drowning. I'm not unhappy. I'm tired of this place and that feeling of being crushed. If you are ready to leave it alone then just leave it alone. I will let you.
I guess I have more to say but they are scenes in my head. The night I walked away in your pants and it was raining and you drove me to my car, parked in an Applebee's parking lot, and how I lost a piece of our beginning that night. Your hat on my head as I leaned into you, watching Eddie Murphy and playing speed--Lifehouse quietly singing in the background and me telling you to turn it up. The first real date we shared, alone in a park at night, sitting on top of the world--which was really just a large white dome, your hands around my waist and me telling you that you only turn every age once.
Most of my favorite visions are snapshots of the past.