Saturday, September 15, 2012

Satan would wear a yellow sundress only to walk with you at sunset.

And I'll kiss you on the cheek, just where your jaw bone and cheek bone meet, when you walk in that door in your favorite shirt with a smile engraved on your lips. You were the city's for the day. The fast and lengthy strides when you walk have blessed the pavements with the sunshine that you always hang on your back, and the sweet morning scent that you always carry on your hair. I remember you were always walking ahead of  me. And it didn't matter if I was a few steps left out because I had you before the pavements did. And that was enough.

I'll run my fingers through your hair just before you put up a crooked face, just before you let out a sigh of disappointment or fatigue from playing the daylight all day. Sometimes you'd complain on how you were consumed by people and how they expect you to willingly let yourself be consumed. We knew we can't change that. But we don't need to let it seep deep in your flesh. Don't waste such beautiful eyelashes, where I bet every dew drop would want to rest.

Your eyes'll catch the the littlest moonlight that would pass through your window, and I'll help you to bed. I will kiss your ankles and your knees, and I'll make you feel like you're not the city's anymore, that you are safe here. And we'll lie on our backs and stare at your ceiling and picture the sky outside or an old cinema screen. If only I could sing you to sleep. I'll hold your hand instead. Because someday I know somebody will take it. And I'll listen to you breathe, and to the crisp of the sheets.


This was our first photo together if I'm not mistaken. But I'm really sure this is the first one. Me and my short hair, you and your straight hair. 

I made something for you. I spent hours believe me. Yer lips, yer luscious lips.
Wait, there's more.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY. I LOVE YOU. Wait for your mix tapes.

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