+sometimes I just look at you, as though the first time+
With newly gained eyesight I can see the beauty that surrounds me. Yellow daisies, bright petals caressing my feet as I run over the fragile flora.
Wind slapping across my face, I inhale the fragrant air, and I feel oddly alive. He pulls me down upon the ground, as though he likes to see me fall (literally) for him.
“Do you still love that fag?” a friend of mine asked me the other night, referring to him, my gallant knight.
“Of course, there is no other,” I replied rather angrily, and added, “and he’s not a fag.”
Yes, we’re together even though we shouldn’t be. Yes, we’re in a relationship, dysfunctional as it may be. Yes, we’re sickingly in love.
“I love you, I love you not,” he says pulling away the petals.
I smirk when he remains with one petal as he slightly smiles, and yank it off, declaring, “I love you.”
Everything depends on him. My moods, my smiles, my frowns, my tears, my frustrations, my joy.
I always hold him close to me as though I could lose him. I’m scared of losing him cos the thought of being separated seems folly.
His familiar scent invades my being, it has become my second skin. We’re like Hedwig and Tommy Gnosis. A modern tragic couple. Will he, like Tommy Gnosis, take all the good stuff from me and run? But I don’t care. I want no limits. No limits, love.
Shattering my ideals and concepts, he’s invaded everything in me, become an atom of my being. No cleansing will ever tear him away from me. He threw an anchor in my heart and there’s no pulling it out anymore.
I was reading how a French actress is living an impossible love. She’s in love with a bloke who’s in prison. She only gets to see him 30 minutes a week. She’s never fucked him. And yet, she says he’s the only bloke she’s ever loved.
There’s an element of insanity to love.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Johnny’s been repeating to me for the past eight months, as though enlightening me of the situation I should divert my attention to someone else. A few days ago when he said to me again, “Zura, you’ve lost your mind.” I simply replied, “I know. But I’d rather die mad, than sane anyway.”
Wind slapping across my face, I inhale the fragrant air, and I feel oddly alive. He pulls me down upon the ground, as though he likes to see me fall (literally) for him.
“Do you still love that fag?” a friend of mine asked me the other night, referring to him, my gallant knight.
“Of course, there is no other,” I replied rather angrily, and added, “and he’s not a fag.”
Yes, we’re together even though we shouldn’t be. Yes, we’re in a relationship, dysfunctional as it may be. Yes, we’re sickingly in love.
“I love you, I love you not,” he says pulling away the petals.
I smirk when he remains with one petal as he slightly smiles, and yank it off, declaring, “I love you.”
Everything depends on him. My moods, my smiles, my frowns, my tears, my frustrations, my joy.
I always hold him close to me as though I could lose him. I’m scared of losing him cos the thought of being separated seems folly.
His familiar scent invades my being, it has become my second skin. We’re like Hedwig and Tommy Gnosis. A modern tragic couple. Will he, like Tommy Gnosis, take all the good stuff from me and run? But I don’t care. I want no limits. No limits, love.
Shattering my ideals and concepts, he’s invaded everything in me, become an atom of my being. No cleansing will ever tear him away from me. He threw an anchor in my heart and there’s no pulling it out anymore.
I was reading how a French actress is living an impossible love. She’s in love with a bloke who’s in prison. She only gets to see him 30 minutes a week. She’s never fucked him. And yet, she says he’s the only bloke she’s ever loved.
There’s an element of insanity to love.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Johnny’s been repeating to me for the past eight months, as though enlightening me of the situation I should divert my attention to someone else. A few days ago when he said to me again, “Zura, you’ve lost your mind.” I simply replied, “I know. But I’d rather die mad, than sane anyway.”