the married couple across the room...

they are quite similar in physical appearance. brown hair. glasses. wearing complimentary colors. they aren't particularly distinguishable. it fits. they look to be studying. happy just to sit together and do some schoolwork in the middle of a busy day. they look up every so often; say a few words, exchange smiles. two perfectly constructed puzzle pieces. the woman stands up to leave. she hesitates a moment, looking down at him. she pushes a piece of hair back into place behind his ear. such a tiny gesture. such a loud moment. no one else seems to notice. she bends over just enough to wrap her arms around his neck, kisses him on the top of the head. her lips move to form a few sentences. did she tell him she loved him? was she reminding him of a dinner invite that evening? or was she promising to kick his butt at tic-tac-toe upon her return? it doesn't matter much. he sits alone now. tapping his foot and glancing up every few minutes, waiting for her to reappear.

ache.

My bones ache to be in proximity to yours.

Is it cool with everyone if I post random things I've just jotted down that really make no sense? Ok.

fingers almost touch
cinder block scrapes
on the back of your hand
speechless
air that is too warm
and dust that grabs
at our throats
blink
to clear the
sentimental thoughts.

I feel it all.

I want to capture feelings and put them in jars. Every single one. And none of them will be labeled. Each day I’ll just pick a jar and feel whatever is inside. And I’ll allow myself to feel fully. I don’t think I ever allow myself that leisure.

For That Future Someone..

This is what it’s like. You help me see the cards I need to win a game of solitaire. I read aloud to you when your eyes are weak from staring at your computer. I give you the section of the newspaper that you like best. You give me a glass of orange juice to make sure I’ve had my Vitamin C. We’ll fold ourselves into piles of blankets and drink cocoa when it’s cold outside. We’ll lay in the rich, thick grass of late summer and talk about our childhoods. Rain, sunshine. Fevers, chills. Little courtesies, big aggravations. Always keeping each other in mind. You'll be the one to hold my attention.

this is the thing.

I don't think there can be love without sadness. Not the desperate, hopeless sadness that wraps itself around you and squeezes until you shut down. More of the hopeful sadness that allows you to grow. We must accept the love we are offered, even if that love does not entirely match our own.
Just saying.

I don't know why it takes so long.

I need some motivation. I mean, the attractive man in my English class only goes so far. This paper is not writing itself. My roommate's boyfriend is knocking on the door and she doesn't hear it. I'm not letting him in, sorry. It's not me he wants to make out with all night. These are the ramblings of a procrastinating college student. I feel very uninspired. Maybe that's not even it. Well, it's partially it. I'm not a cynical person, but I'm in rather a cynical mood. Sorry, baby. No motivation... I just want to eat a lot and watch movies. Truth. That mood when everything and everyone annoys you, that's me at the moment. Don't pretend that's never happened to you. Oh well. I'll listen to The Weepies and try to get my life in order. Gotta check myself before I wreck myself. Right?