Sunday, September 03, 2006
mush.
precious little time, tt they have together. the sun beats down as it warms the earth, middle of day, yet day soon to be gone. she wonders where he is as she steps off the bus; it rolls away as her phone rings off the hook.
he calls her back, and they meet in the midst of the hustle and bustle. a sea of people throng all around, yet in the crowd his eyes find hers. and he watches as she makes her slow descent; his hand reaches for hers even before she completely steps off. and with tt touch, the cares of the world dissipate as surely as the smile tt breaks over her face. the frustrations and irritations, the realities; for tt moment, for tt brief respite, they disappear.
she kisses him. she runs her fingers down his cheeks, traces the outline of his cheeks, and sees a reflection of herself in his eyes. she appears much more beautiful in his eyes than she does in hers. kissing him is one of the many things that she will never tire of. even if they were together for a hundred, or a thousand years to come, even if he were to get old and grey and toothless, or she; she would never tire of kissing those lips, of tracing those lips, or of looking into those eyes.
time passes too quickly; the little time they have together is never quite enough, somehow. time is something tt they might hold in excess; in excess considering the passage of an otherwise unexpected uninterrupted life. yet in the here-and-now, time leaves her rife tt every moment with him will be her last. for the briefness and newness of their relationship, he has come to mean much of her world. her hand instinctively reaches for his if his does not hers; her lips do not even have to, for his.
she's told him before tt she has become addicted to him. she wonders if he believes her.
now playing: hotel costes - cafe de flor
he calls her back, and they meet in the midst of the hustle and bustle. a sea of people throng all around, yet in the crowd his eyes find hers. and he watches as she makes her slow descent; his hand reaches for hers even before she completely steps off. and with tt touch, the cares of the world dissipate as surely as the smile tt breaks over her face. the frustrations and irritations, the realities; for tt moment, for tt brief respite, they disappear.
she kisses him. she runs her fingers down his cheeks, traces the outline of his cheeks, and sees a reflection of herself in his eyes. she appears much more beautiful in his eyes than she does in hers. kissing him is one of the many things that she will never tire of. even if they were together for a hundred, or a thousand years to come, even if he were to get old and grey and toothless, or she; she would never tire of kissing those lips, of tracing those lips, or of looking into those eyes.
time passes too quickly; the little time they have together is never quite enough, somehow. time is something tt they might hold in excess; in excess considering the passage of an otherwise unexpected uninterrupted life. yet in the here-and-now, time leaves her rife tt every moment with him will be her last. for the briefness and newness of their relationship, he has come to mean much of her world. her hand instinctively reaches for his if his does not hers; her lips do not even have to, for his.
she's told him before tt she has become addicted to him. she wonders if he believes her.
# posted by Kitana @ 9/03/2006 07:59:00 PM 
