xxx-fancy-xxx

my eyesight is deteriorating like stepped on leaves, wet and crunched up after heavy rain, and the little girl who picked it up and stored it in a jar, on the television, and just a little far away, can't be seen anymore, because everything is a blur and my eyes ache because it misses the way they helped her see the world. even though just the thought of you calling my name, and waiting for me to reply just murders any appetite i had left, i'm the one who's waiting now, and i feel like i'll never stop and you'll never come and i eat too much junk food and my stomach aches because the door is closed, and the right time is n

love is when he calls you beautiful in a way that you have no choice but to believe it. and my cat purrs softly as i stroke her warm, calico fur; while i smile because i remember what love and softness feels like. like sitting on a damp bench, in a deserted playground, with a jacket over our heads. to keep us dry from the rain, which turns your hands red, and makes my heart smile, the way you did when the sun would sometimes be a bright, hope and light up a future, with forgetting the darker colours which soft tulips don't like, and don't lie, just laugh,    and maybe that was just a dream and even though

sometimes, he reads her so well, she is shocked. and feels like an open book, with no page numbers, yet, someone knows. someone knows what order she has to be read in. and it's almost like you can read my mind. sometimes, her pages fly open, and she willingly leaves herself that way; read me, read each and every word. and then he scrunches up his nose, and pushes the book away - slightly - but away, while smiling, kindly, but, judging and, she turns her pages over, with the sound of a tear. and it's almost like i have to start using a different font;  or scratch out some words; or maybe, invisible ink. sometimes, she writes new

warning: overdose can be fatal. the first thought in my mind   when i wake up is you; the second  is how i       think about you  too too much. read pages of a novel    (p.s. i love you) with a mention of one touch, one   word of, and she stops   reading, and a blank stare at  blurred pages, while you   visit in velvet, clouded     daydreams. and what i want to do is,    write love letters for you everyday.  seal them with faded, burning       memories of new   love, and soft kisses. i want to mail them to you    on the wings  of all the dreams i had with your face, your voice, your  memory

he said "bittersweet"  and she went blank, because she didn't know it, at that time. when she was still savouring the sugar-sugar-coating, and not yet the bitterness inside. this so-called hard candy is only bitter on the outside though, isn't it? inside, it's all sweet, and laughter, and kisses, and smiles, and happy, and love - oh wait, oxymoron; perhaps, is it maybe the other way around? don't ask me what this means because i won't answer.  because i don't know. it means love, dear. everything from me to you that's what it all means. just, love. or else i never would have stayed so long in the first place. open

lost-and; waiting to be - dear self, where did you go? please remind me who and why again. no, i'm feeling like i'm just live-ing for someone  else; right now, for you.  yes, love. but, no. don't do that. just, take some time, find again, self. myself, remember. but, maybe it's not me that i'm looking for. maybe the one i'm looking for is you.

12am. round and round we go. the clock keeps ticking forward.     forward and back, forward and back. midnight: an end and a beginning. ( corruption at its finest ) and we live another day. 11pm. the sun has long set. finish eating tv-dinner    glow of commercials reflected on blank face. read headlines, newsprint - leftover from breakfast.    all seen, all read. the sun has long set.    ( and some have stopped believing         that it would ever rise again ) 5pm. rush hour. speeding cars, waiting in traffic    minutes going by seem like hours. discussions held over cellphone. turn on radio.    laugh along with e

i love { the way you say my name   with the sound of Everything is okay   so much so that i really believe you ( and keep hiding a little longer, just to hear you say my name again ) when you paint pictures  of you,me and happiness when you hold my hand  just to keep it warm when you make me forget   how to breathe, a little when you tell me i'm beautiful   and, somehowcrazilyactually, mean it and; the way you mean what you say   with the sound of I love you   so much so that i really believe you ( and you make me feel so [good]happy  i could cry and never let you go; } you this much

Welcome, young one, welcome. It feels great to have a place to call home, doesn't it? To have someone you can call your own. Someone who you can belong to. Yes, I know exactly what that feels like. Love, I believe it’s called. It is beautiful. Just like her. Her, who I have known since she was but a tiny, young girl. Her, who had promised me that she would love me forever. Just as she now promises you. Oh, look at you. It is almost as though you are glowing, in all your plastic perfection. Your big, beady, blue eyes are almost mesmerizing. Oh, no need to blush, dear. Although the sweet tint of pink is naturally always there,