Nilza95

on day one his lips met mine at our love’s early age. maybe that was a minor action that affected us in the long run. see, these are things we’ll just never know now. he told me everything would be okay, with his words and with his hugs. on day nine, under a starless sky, the minute hand of time moved faster than my own hand because my hand stood still in his and time went by too fast. he said he liked my bony fingers. we started to dissect the love that possibly began too quickly on day fifty. love gave birth to a new species of arguments and tears. chapped lips, dry throats, and messy hair defined

dear boy, well, the phone won't stop ringing and the baby's still crying. but you are no longer the fourteen-year-old scene boy i fell for. you cut off your hair and you’re now almost a man. you are almost nineteen. you leave lights on because you like wasting perfectly good things like electricity, time, and love. it's like setting a house on fire and just walking away, not watching the beauty in the flames as they twirl. i can't say i'm much better though, because i always want what i can't have. it's lunch time and in the cafeteria line-up, i'm beside the head cheerleader. i look at her tray and say, "i want what she has" because she

I was sitting under a tree when you found me. "it's been a long, long time," you said. I nodded and asked, "did you get that piercing? did you face that fear? and do you remember all the plans we made to get high and watch the trains pass, to simply sit in bus stations, and to just watch the clouds pass for a couple hours?" you nodded and asked, "what's that under your arm?" "oh, it's my sketchbook." you wanted to take a look, and for a little while, we looked at the picture of the world that I drew. "who are these people in the top right corner?" you asked. I smiled and said, "they're the children." I did not tell you that, in my picture,