There was a title to my love
story. I changed it about
as many times as you left
then came back with
those images that always
worked before. Before him,
that is. The title is in the works.
In my deep mind of altered
dreams. You are inside me
now, like the poems I write. You
write. I sleep. You sleep. I dream.
You dream. We meet. We part.
I want no answers. This is my
main problem. No solutions.
Most girls want it all. I want none
of it. All the things you can’t see
this is what I want. I need to
disappear, even under the sheets
will do. With or without you. I
recite Bono too often, claiming
this time I have tricks of bravery
up my sleeve on bristol boards
of love. I will run to you.
What else will keep me going
from one frozen…
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