But it was now time for her to go away—to find someone who could show her what happiness was.
Lang LeavLike time suspended,
a wound unmended--
you and I.
We had no ending,
no said goodbye;
For all my life,
I'll wonder why.
Of lips that I am yet to kiss,
and eyes
not met my own.
Knowing sleep will set it right—
if you were not to wake.
But it's perplexingly sweet,
and quite sexy too—
to be ignored,
ignored by you.
We had no ending,
no said goodbye.
For all my life,
I'll wonder why.
I thought you were a keeper,
I wish I could
have kept you.
In time she will learn,
not to
miss them.
I don't think all writers are sad, she said. I think it's the other way around- all sad people write.
Lang LeavAs a kid, I would count backwards from ten and imagine at one, there would be an explosion–perhaps caused by a rogue planet crashing into Earth or some other major catastrophe. When nothing happened, I'd feel relieved and at the same time, a little disappointed.
I think of you at ten; the first time I saw you. Your smile at nine and how it lit up something inside me I had thought long dead. Your lips at eight pressed against mine and at seven, your warm breath in my ear and your hands everywhere. You tell me you love me at six and at five we have our first real fight. At four we have our second and three, our third. At two you tell me you can't go on any longer and then at one, you ask me to stay.
And I am relieved, so relieved–and a little disappointed.
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