I'm still dreaming of her. In a false reality where we don't hate each other and we fall asleep on another while hiding stolen kisses and quick feels from our parents on a couch that isn't ours.
Her voice is defensive and every word has a tinge of sarcasm and enough arrogance to know that she's trying hard to convince herself that she's not fucked up (she is).
She's playing grownup half the time - like somebody is always watching her every move to behave how she should act for her age. She's older now and the smile lines and subtle aging is showing more since I last saw her, but kissing her brings out the child inside who's begging to play because nobody else will.
She stands tall and talks tough but when she's on her back, she's like the rest - they're all the same.
A gentle, wide-eyed girl who just wants to be loved from almost anyone who'll show her. So why did it have to be me?
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)