the first and last one about you
I tell my friends you donât cross my mind anymore, been there, done that, and when they ask if weâve spoken recently I tell them I deleted your number. or was it that you deleted mine? I think about being held. Iâll close my eyes and wish it was your fingers entwined with mine instead of a tall stranger. I think we must be outside because I feel cold. or maybe itâs the storm brewing inside of me and the rain is almost ready to drown us all. Iâm lost in my own heart, I donât know the way out. you find somebody good and you want to hold on. shift and adjust, cross your legs, stretch out your arms, heads on shoulders and lust in eyes. absent-mindedly tracing your name on every surface, not unlike you tracing it into my mouth, like a branding, I belong(ed) to you. asking myself how long itâs been since I lifted my fingers after writing a word and it didnât burn. if you were wondering about the definition of shame, it looks a bit like this: a lover that canât leave you alone, a lover that offers you warmth from wasted hours, and whispers of absolutely nothing. could have and would have and should have. this specific shade of shame demands an audience when it walks in, and here we are, every one of my selves.Â
I.A.A.
