This is me. For sure. Saying every little thing about you, every little thing you do, your platonic touch, your smile (even the misdirected ones), your Freudian slips, I trap them here, in this frail little chest of a heart, where they're kept away from the world, away from those who see only with judgment and ignorance.
They are all here. Every sensory detail true and tortuous. Every single one of them cutting me deep.
What does one do when there's only fondness and curiosity on one side of the equation and love on the other?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment