You cross my mind. A lot. More times than I care to admit; you seem to have taken up permanent residence, making your home in the deepest corners of my mind. And sometimes I get caught up in my head, I’ll lose myself in the colour of your eyes — even in my head I’m helpless — and I have to remind myself to breathe.
We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine.
I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because ‘romantic’ doesn’t mean ‘sugary.’ It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.
I don’t remember lighting this cigarette and I don’t remember if I’m here alone or waiting for someone.