I began to fall in love with her, as a junkie to a pipe. It was immediate, satisfying, and scary. The look on her face of excitement at seeing mine, was her curiosity for me as a flame in my heart.
I could never get enough of her. She leaned out to me and gave me hope, but it all started to come crashing in. This was many months ago, and still I wish she was here. She gave me laughter, songs to listen to that filled her up, and I won’t forget.
Her man is asleep, so I gave her my number. I wish she’d call because in my dedication to that feeling she holds onto, I hope to wake him up. Out of loyalty she already tried too much, and he hasn’t died. She left him before it happened, but he’s asleep now and she can’t move on.
I asked her if she was broken hearted, because her beauty lifted mine. I couldn’t understand why such a precious woman, so full of what appeared to be thoughtful joy, would love me. She did for a little while, but then as usual I wrecked it. She said yes I am. It was enough as I saw the trails of darkness tainting her past that reflected onto her falling shoulders, and it was surprise for my question.
Maybe if I hadn’t tried so hard and pretended not to care, she would call me. I told her I wouldn’t be back to see her, and I haven’t been. She’s standing alone in a little box, waiting for the sun that will let her day end. I’m waiting for the sun that will shine in me, if she let’s me try. Maybe he will die soon, and she can have a chance at happiness again. It might not matter, but she knows I’ll show up to build it, and that does to me.