| | For the seven millionth time, I'm drinking my glass of milk in a coffeeshop, staring down an aisle of ceiling lights, wishing to God that I could hold you in these arms, but you are absolutely too sweet for me. You'd give me the shakes, and then diabetes, and then... that's when you'd kill me. And I know it too. I know it all too well and still I've chosen to drink you. I tell myself that I've stayed away for quite some time now, and that having just a little bit of you really won't be that bad for me at all. But then I feel you, hollowing out my veins and then pinching them to feel like I just put my tongue on a battery. If I could, I would tell you my secret of how I've got nothing up my sleeves and that really, I'm just dying from being strung on a line that's hanging between what I've I believe the world needs, what I believe you need, and how much it hurts me inside when I bear down and try it. There are so many ways that I want to love you, but I just don't know how.
If only I could displace myself, and start over as a nobody who wears a five o clock shadow everyday at 4:00 o clock, sitting in this coffee shop holding my glass of milk. And that's when you'd walk in. You'd come in with your weekly subscription to the Economist, trying to save the world even with your cup of coffee. Then you'd sit down across from me and you'd open your magazine and your mocha colored curls would pour in front of your face as you simultaneously take a bite from your fair trade muffin. And that's when you'd catch me with my eyes away from the computer screen, looking around the place for my next few sentences. And that’s when you’d brush a smile my way, and that's where it would all start.
My next few sentences would be about you. |
| | Posted 10/28/2007 12:36 AM - 41 Views - 4 eProps - 2 comments
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