you don't know what you're saying or open topic
You and I have two completely different ways of talking to one another. Graceful long fingers don't ever shake as they describe the feeling of falling as we hold hands and jump into the waves. We walk along the same beach barefoot, but I can't stand the sand between my toes like you can. I run across asphalt as if I were a fire-walker, but you stand on one side and laugh when I step on a rock. I have forgotten what shoes are, and the straps feel like chains around my ankles. My skin browns in the low California sun, and my sandals leave pale marks across the tops of my feet. I cover my breasts, leave my back to collect the heat of the day, and you shrivel away from the sun. We ride with the top up, a waste of open days.
Sometimes I wonder how we became friends. It must have been that one night when we went for ice cream and you kept taking my spoon; as it disappeared from my hand and into your mouth, I could only smile (and steal six dollars from your pocket). After, we watched a movie and we were the only two people in the entire world; suddenly I understood how fragile you were. I felt peaceful around you, and I don't I've ever felt at peace with anything in my life until that night, and I don't think I've been at peace with myself since. I can say I miss you, but I wouldn't know what the truth would be: you are not the same as you were then. Neither, perhaps, am I.
Your text messages are so concise and always kind. You don't spend time with silly platitudes and a well placed bon-mot can always make me laugh. I feel like I've known you since I've known the sky. We speak the same language when we talk. You make my heart do triple axles, you write, and I show it forever, content in the knowledge that somewhere someone thinks of me as I think of them, and the lump in their throat is happy nostalgia.
You have a glass of wine as we sit outside with our feet hanging off the ledge. We sleep in the same bed and your elbows dig into my side. It keeps me awake but I stopped caring a long time ago. We laugh when people ask us if we're dating. I would never date you; I know what you're really like. And besides, we're better off as just friends.
(I've repeated this last sentence, as I sit watching your sleeping face, wondering if it's true. How well do I know my own heart, as well as yours, and what can I see in the worried lines of your forehead?)
Sometimes I wonder how we became friends. It must have been that one night when we went for ice cream and you kept taking my spoon; as it disappeared from my hand and into your mouth, I could only smile (and steal six dollars from your pocket). After, we watched a movie and we were the only two people in the entire world; suddenly I understood how fragile you were. I felt peaceful around you, and I don't I've ever felt at peace with anything in my life until that night, and I don't think I've been at peace with myself since. I can say I miss you, but I wouldn't know what the truth would be: you are not the same as you were then. Neither, perhaps, am I.
Your text messages are so concise and always kind. You don't spend time with silly platitudes and a well placed bon-mot can always make me laugh. I feel like I've known you since I've known the sky. We speak the same language when we talk. You make my heart do triple axles, you write, and I show it forever, content in the knowledge that somewhere someone thinks of me as I think of them, and the lump in their throat is happy nostalgia.
You have a glass of wine as we sit outside with our feet hanging off the ledge. We sleep in the same bed and your elbows dig into my side. It keeps me awake but I stopped caring a long time ago. We laugh when people ask us if we're dating. I would never date you; I know what you're really like. And besides, we're better off as just friends.
(I've repeated this last sentence, as I sit watching your sleeping face, wondering if it's true. How well do I know my own heart, as well as yours, and what can I see in the worried lines of your forehead?)