Poetry never fails to destroy my cynicism or stoicism or whatever hard-nosed thing I happen to be that day. Poetry about death makes me wonder when I will experience my first real death...I guess the deaths of pets don't really count, do they? Poetry about kids makes me excited to have children of my own. And poetry about love? That usually affects me the strongest of all.
The watery words, the insubstantial breaths cause me to crave his touch, his kiss, his heart beneath my ear. There's something wonderful about snuggling up to his chest....something borderline magical.
I, like, soooo do not deserve him.
But we've had that "discussion" before.
I thought about bed last night. Our bed. What it will be like to fall asleep together, dream...and awaken to the sun's caress.
There's a line in my poetry.....
When we sleep together/
When we breathe each other's breath/
God, how that reminds me of us.
Funny how I miss him sometimes. At random times.
Funny how I'm so hesitatingly impatient for the future to arrive.
Funny how much I love him.
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