#minnne

She sat with her book open, glasses on the window sill. Better was something ever strived for, something worth the sacrifice. And so she was still. She learned to love the comfort of loneliness, the raging ocean of her passions, the fact that there was always more to know. She sifted through the parts of her mind that she didn't understand and reread the parts she did. All she wanted was more and she was never satisfied--loved fearlessly, worked incessantly, spoke eloquently, and existed fiercely.

I don't think I love you anymore. You've tried to define me time and time again, but I do not fit into your words. What miraculously drew me to you in the beginning has now horrendously pushed me away. I know I have my flaws too. I was cold to compensate for the warmth that grew in my when I heard your name. The frost still hasn't left my palms, but I'm trying to make it right. So, please, be in my life--a little easier this time.

I asked him a few months ago what his favorite color of eyes was. "Brown," he said. Brown like mine. Beautiful and big and deep. He favored my eye color while I favored his everything. His appearance, of course. Dark brown hair, small fingers and palms, bright blue eyes. But his mannerisms even more. How he bit his lip, misplaced his hands, grinned quite crookedly, sighed between sentences. Naturally, I loved his hard headedness the most. In the middle of heated arguments and tender conversation, I often found myself thinking, "I love you, but you are so stubborn." I asked him a couple days ago what his favorite eye color was. Breath held, fingers crossed, but it is no longer mine. Forests in the spring, leaves in the wind, broken sea glass, my face when I think of him holding onto another. Green.

I can see us--my finger tips grace your cheek, your eyes wide on mine, our breathing reminding me that this is foreign. I know we will never be that way again. “Electric,” you described it, but all we have now are the dull remains. I’ll lay my eyes on you once more and feel nothing but sparks. It’s ignited within me all over again--impassioned arguments, confusion, undeniable desire. Take me back to that moment, stars above us in the confined space of a little gold car. I shouldn’t have leaned away. I should have promised. Things would be different.