Friday, June 25, 2010
young hearts
Young love, you were so many summers ago. Tanned and fresh faced and twenty-one, I waited at streetcorners with the hope of you floating all around. Beautiful you were as you crossed the street to greet me with a kiss and beautiful I felt, too, from the way you kissed me. Young love, you were light as a feather as you shared shared shared and listened to it all. And light as a feather was I when you lifted me into the night and said you loved me and meant it in a way you only can when you're eighteen. And my eyes were only ever wide open and bright that summer and they hardly are anymore and so sometimes I close them to still see you standing there, a bouquet of sunflowers in your hand.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
you're SUCH a good writer. i loved this.
A hundred rectangle suns line the halls, jaundiced yellow retro paint stained walls. I confess to you some vulnerable secret and the words pass right through. You will always think the worst of me and never give me the chance to show you something better until the end of our days proxima. I stalked these halls for years to be some kickaround kid for your friends. Never could quite fit in. There's not much a city between us but I will never see your face again. I just wanted you to know, I will always have loved you, until my end.
Post a Comment