Me again

I almost forgot that this was here. Almost.

Lone

I spent the morning of new year’s eve at a coffee shop that we went to once. I remember that she likes the coffee there much more than at our normal place. In all honesty, I went to make her jealous. She’d be upset to know that I went and enjoyed her favorite without her. But I’m jealous too.

Someone has gone and is enjoying my favorite.

See you when you get back.

About that time

It’s that time for me, I guess. When someone asks “what do you want for Christmas”, there isn’t anything to want anymore. You’re a little too old to ask for anything even slightly childish like say a video game console, or some cool-looking action figure or other that does things toys didn’t do when you were younger. You pretty much just accept what people give you from this point on.

Haha, I told her that to save her money, all I want this Christmas holiday is to be acknowledged under the mistletoe. No matter how many times I seem to appear beneath it.

And, yes, I do want one of those awesome action figures.
You’ll never be too old to want things.

Always open

It’s been a while since we’ve talked. A while since we’ve enjoyed the rain together. Even longer since you’ve hugged me. Either I’m busy or you just look the other direction. We’re both to blame simply put. Modest greetings as you pass my bedroom door aren’t enough anymore; it feels like you’re teasing me. I miss the sweet smell you’d leave behind after hours of talking, laughing… nothing. I miss you.

I’m waiting here…

When?

We made plans together, her and I. We always make plans: going to movies, taking walks, cafe hopping.. It’s fun for a while — thinking up things to do,  makes me feel like a child again, you know… playing pretend…

Please…

Don’t be stupid. Leave. Go back to your family. Heal. Tell her goodbye. Or else you’ll soon turn the other cheek for the final time. Don’t you listen as she apologizes. She lies. You know that. Turn your back and walk away. Pack your things and go. Don’t look back. It’s how she gets you. Run if you have to. Just leave. For me.

I love you…

but it’ll never happen.

Live for me, I’m living for you

She laid there, on the floor. Nose running red, first time being punched. Curled into a ball she cries, begs her “lover” not to hit her again though she’s already gone.

Of all the years I’ve known her, from middle school on, I always thought that I’d be the one always in need of help, always looking to her for guidance, but now…it’s like seeing your heroine fall, your love die

That’s my blood there on the floor as well…