I can’t stop but to wish to go back to that moment. Of course, in your mind, you think that resting your head against my shoulder and cuddling with my right arm means absolutely nothing to me plus considering the fact that you’re touchy with your other guy friends as well, you’re wrong. It’s a moment in my where even if was just for ten minutes I want it to happen again and even it damn sure made me a happy man. Despite the tug of war game I was playing against the bus and trying to keep my balance straight so you wouldn’t be disrupted during your slumber, It was a nice moment, no, it was close to perfect. One where I thought I was able to protect you no matter what. God you looked so cute while you were sleeping.
Give me an apartment that is still smelling of your clothes,
a bed in the corner that still has the sheets where we last made love on it.
Give me the inability to change those sheets
or sleep in that bed again.
Give me flowers on my doorstep
give me orchids even though I like tulips
the boy with the coffee-coloured
eyes tells me that writers are prophets:
he points out times when they
have described futures beyond
their time all-too-well -
he lists a few of my favorites:
fitzgerald. bradbury. orwell.
they painted tragedy before
the colors or the canvas