I don’t want another casual encounter with you. I want up all night. I want missed calls. I want rainy days in bed. I want breakfast for two. I want little space in the shower where I take the spot behind you, where the water only tickles my forehead and hands that rest on your chest. I want the “what’s for dinner”. I want a right hand placed softly on my left thigh, and us cruising down a long road, with no definite destination. I want the most high. And I want it with you.
You weren’t made of magic, and you didn’t have galaxies in your eyes. You were just a boy with a crooked smile who told me I was beautiful. Now, you’re a fleeting memory–nothing more than a whisper in the wind. (338/365) by (DS)