| where_you_placed_your_hands | ||
| fyn gula |
the snow is magic dust against the upstairs window, waking me only long enough to cast the spell of further sleep, candy store dreams under the multiple blankets. it is where you place your hands that finally wake me. you are made of warm fuzz and i am the rapidly melting icicle. rolling over, you bring the morning light with you. your brown eyes are the first thing i see and the day is born. i am not the blank space i usually am without you. now it is your image impressed upon me. everywhere i look, there you are. if what nietzsche says is true, that, "man is the only animal who has to be encouraged to live," is true, i must not be fucking human. "vat time ees eet? you ask, a still voice of calm and we both know what that means. it's over, but only temporarily. tonight, we'll write the screenplay for the thoughts we'll need when we are not together. |
020228 |